Jerkiness
by Andressa Matos
Summary: "He who seeks vengeance must dig two graves: one for his enemy and one for himself" Chinese Proverb. Trying to get retribution from House, Cuddy learns that there is nothing more precious to lose than her own self. Huddy. Set shortly after "Wilson".
1. Behind Blue Eyes

_**Disclaimer:**_ I unfortunately own nothing beyond my deranged mind and my exquisite taste. House MD belongs to David Shore and FOX.

_**This FIC is dedicated to B, my wonderful friend and beta.**__** Without your precious boosting and native-speaker help, this would have never been published. Thank you, sunshine, for everything.**_

_**Andie. **_

_**A/N: **_As a big fan of music, I have my iPod as a primary source of inspiration. This story - as the others I've written and co-written - is musically influenced. Therefore, believing that a song can help the readers to better understand the author's intention while writing the story and consequently appreciate it even more, I've decided to name every chapter after the tune that moved me into creating _Jerkiness_, so you guys can have a soundtrack suggestion. :D

_**Jerkiness  
**_

_**Chapter One - Behind Blue Eyes**_*

Cuddy's vision was red with fury. Her brow furrowed in annoyance as she entered PPTH's lobby trying to get rid of the snowflakes that tinted her black leather coat in white. Stupid, stupid snowstorm! It was not enough that the piles of paperwork over her desk were numerous and high enough to match a Parthenon replica, no. Of course not…

She still had to be dragged out of her warm and dry office in the middle of the most cold and snowy day of the year, and have almost two hours wasted visiting apartments she would never consider setting her Prada-heeled feet in, let alone inhabiting. What the hell was Lucas thinking? That she would raise her kid in a place like that? Had he actually considered moving to that neighborhood, anyway? What does that say about him?

Ok, maybe she was overreacting. Just a little. The place was not exactly repulsive; it was surely good enough for someone… Someone that was not her. _Or_ her new family. No. They belonged together in that loft, that perfect and charming real estate downtown that Wilson had been cunningly convinced to steal from her. Convinced by _him_, naturally.

The thought of House perverting Wilson's mind into scamming to ruin her plans of moving in with Lucas caused the already scarlet scenario before her eyes to deepen to the darkest shade of crimson. She almost began to regret her last avenging act - moving his over privileged parking space to the farthest end of the parking lot right in the middle of winter – while trying not to slip on a thick layer of ice that covered the hospital's sidewalk moments earlier. _Yes, she was an idiot this way. _

The hope that House had broken his two-hundred-dollar cane and fallen flat on his ass while trying to get to work was somehow comforting for Cuddy as she unlocked and waltzed in her office, shrugging off her coat and placing it on the hanger along with her scarf, gloves and earmuffs. It was not until she turned on the lights and closed the door that she noticed his unwelcome presence sprawled on her couch like he owned the whole place, as usual. The crimson was now in flames as anger built in the pit of her stomach burning all the way to her cheeks. She. Wanted. _Blood_!

"It's addictive, isn't it?" House started, venomous sarcasm dripping in his tone. "Jerkiness…"

Cuddy inhaled a lungful of air trying to calm herself down. Her hands balled into fists as she worked hard to control the rage that spread through her limbs as her blood boiled. Her lids instinctively dropped and she counted mentally to ten – _a standard anger control procedure_ - managing to open her eyes again to face him. That was when she noticed…

"I mean, the jerkiness act per se is not really relevant… It can be a simple snarky comment, or a widely spread rumor, even an elaborate prank. Me, I've always been a fan of the complex scamming, you know… Too high of an IQ, things are never challenging enough, so I get bored easily," House blabbed nonchalantly in an apparently reflexive but casual tone. Although his voice did not give away any of his feelings, his eyes were the mirror of his soul. There was no way of hiding the misery coated in ice blue.

As Cuddy tried to make sense of his words, her chest clutched in angst as her eyes took in his broken figure. His lower lip was slashed and swollen, as if it had been smashed in by a punch or accidentally bitten. "The thing is there's really nothing like the shocked expression on an idiot's face after finding out he or she has just been jerked around… The mix of surprise, shame and outrage are absolutely fascinating. Boy, I wish you had set up some cameras at your sister's place last Thanksgiving. You would've gotten such a kick out of that." House went on making his point, ignoring Cuddy's flabbergasted expression as she scrutinized the brace that immobilized his injured left arm.

"House, what hap---" Cuddy meant to ask concernedly only to be cut off midsentence by House who was clearly not done with his convoluted speech.

"However, as an older member of the club you seem so eager to join, I must warn you that genuine jerkiness demands a lot of creativity. Not that I'm not impressed by your performance so far, I truly am… Ok, turning the closest person I had to a friend other than Wilson into your dirty little secret and blabbing to him shameful details of my personal life may have been a little bit cliché, and although it worked very effectively, the parking space change was not exactly original, but hey! The Thanksgiving thing was just genius!"

That was it. He had fallen flat on the floor just like she had secretly wished and evilly planned. Now he was hurt, his left arm was broken, an unnecessary addition to the already fierce pain he was obligated to endure, the fruit of her vainness marking his handsome face and adding more fragility to his handicapped figure. Tears started rolling freely down Cuddy's cheeks as his words began to sink in. He was right, she had wanted that, she had been craving for retaliation with every fiber of her being until moments before. Why did it feel like her chest was being ripped apart then?

House went on, unaffectedly, completely oblivious to Cuddy's agony. Or maybe very much aware of it… "Human beings are creatures of habit; the cool expressions of shock don't take long to turn into boring disappointed ones once they figure out what to expect from you. That's when it becomes difficult to surprise them; they raise their guards and become suspicious of every one of your acts, even the innocent ones…"

Brokenly, Cuddy watched the pain – both physical and emotional – become more evident on House's face as he grabbed his cane and stood to his feet with difficulty. His leg had probably also been hurt in the fall, right when he could no longer count on Vicodin to ease the soreness that would consume his 1.90m body for days, keeping him from sleeping…

"After a while, you start to question your own intentions. What if everyone is right? What if jerkiness becomes the only truth about you? There's really no use in such speculation. Then you realize you won't be able to convince anyone of the contrary anyway, because you will have already received public recognition. _Vox populi, vox Dei_, right?" House proceeded in a sad whispering, clearly addressing himself rather than Cuddy.

Grimacing as the stabbing pain shot mercilessly through his mutilated muscle, House limped slowly to the door. Cuddy motioned to stop him but her legs would not move; desolation kept her frozen in place. There was nothing she could do or say to make it better, not when she hated herself too much to come up with an actual self-defense speech. She would just let him go; there was no point in exposing her heart when she did not know what was left inside of it. She only knew it hurt.

Cuddy's mind played an instant flashback of her moments with House since that fatidic afternoon when she fired him after his balcony indiscretion, trying to find out the exact moment it had all started, the moment that vindictive stranger had taken the place of the two-decade woman in love she used to be. What had been made of her unconditional love for House? What had been responsible for turning it into a weapon apparently designed to cause him so much harm?

The guilt she had skillfully shoved to the back of her mind when Wilson and House left PPTH to gather his stuff and depart for Mayfield was back in full force. If only he had let her know what was going on instead of saying those horrible things about Rachel. If only he had actually asked her for help… She could not have known, right? There was no way she could have guessed what was going on inside his Vicodin-loaded and sleep-deprived mind that evening… How could she have missed the despair in his eyes? She should have stopped and listened to him. Why didn't she? She would have helped, oh God, she would have been there for him every step of the way. She would have held his hand through the moments of agony; she would have made love to him to take the pain away, slept in his arms so he did not feel cold, or lonely…

The memories reopened her still unhealed wounds which seemed to hurt even more after all this time. Maybe they had been infected due to her negligence of recognizing their existence and treating them properly. Was the damage caused reversible? Her head and heart worked frantically when his hoarse voice brought her back from her reverie. He was still standing in front of the door, hand clenching the doorknob, eyes facing the floor "You can do it if you want, Lisa. You've never found any obstacle big enough to stop you. You can go on with this and lose track of who you are if it helps you to deal with your pain." While opening the door, House completed, "I just wanted to make sure you knew that once you're there, it's awfully hard to go back."

And with that he walked out, closing the door behind him and leaving Cuddy to breakdown in the solitude of her sanctuary, because that was beasts do. They bleed alone.

*_song by "Limp Bizkit"_ _(or "The Who", if you like the original version better...)  
_

_**Reviews are love, especially the long, thoughtful, positive ones... LOL! Just kidding. Leave your message if you feel like it. :D**_


	2. Bullet Proof I Wish I Was

**_Disclaimer:_** I unfortunately own nothing beyond my deranged mind and my exquisite taste. House MD belongs to David Shore and FOX.

**_  
As the greatest man that ever inhabited this planet once said, "Ask, and thou shall receive." Here it is, people, the long-awaited sequel to Jerkiness. I dedicate it to my beloved reviewers and sincerely hope it is good enough to make up for the delay. :D _**

**_Andie._**

**_A/N:_**As a big fan of music, I have my iPod as a primary source of inspiration. This story - as the others I've written and co-written - is musically influenced. Therefore, believing that a song can help the readers to better understand the author's intention while writing the story and consequently appreciate it even more, I've decided to name every chapter after the tune that moved me into creating _Jerkiness_, so you guys can have a soundtrack suggestion. :D (Check chapter one to find out which song has inspired it. ;)

**_Jerkiness_**

**_Chapter Two – Bullet Proof… I Wish I Was*_**

Cuddy could already feel the sharp throbbing hammering in her temples even before she reopened her dry eyes to the darkness of her office. She had absolutely no idea how long time had passed since she cried herself to sleep in her couch after House exited her office. Moving with difficulty to a sitting position and trying to refrain her head from spinning faster than Earth, she accessed her short term memory and vaguely remembered locking the door, placing her phone off the receiver and turning her cell phone off before her legs gave up on her for good and she collapsed on the light grey comforter and let sadness take over.

Cuddy's feeble legs were still not very cooperative when she finally gathered the strength to rise to her feet, moving carefully around and fumbling for the switch. It was dark outside. Turning her cell phone on, she checked the clock on the small screen: a few minutes past six. She had been out for more than three hours. The silver device buzzed in her hands and a text message informed her that her absence had been noticed by someone else besides the people who had insistently banged at her office door every ten minutes while she tried to have a decent breakdown. _Five Missed Calls_. There was no trace of surprise in her worn out expression when the caller's name appeared on the screen. Lucas. He was probably waiting for her at home with Rachel, spending time with her baby daughter as she was supposed to do. Well, reasons to self-loathing were clearly on the menu for the day.

Looking at the Parthenon piles of neglected paperwork scattered all over her desk, Cuddy instantly knew that life had to go on. Unfortunately, the blue planet had not stopped its gravitational and translational movements just because she had been introduced to the new despicable aspects of her personality. People did not give a darn about her feelings especially the patients that were all over PPTH waiting area to receive medical care. They were probably okay with the fact that she had turned into a jerk, as long as they got their runny nose, appendicitis, pneumonia and hemorrhoids properly treated.

Life needed to go on, and Cuddy was very much aware of the fact while she fixed her ruined make up and got ready to leave her office and face the real world again. In cold blood. And it was with her best administrator façade that she unlocked her cave's door and ignored the questioning gaze of her assistant - who was getting ready to leave for the day - pacing fast into the clinic and pretending to browse in the charts. She tried uselessly to focus on the reading, but the letters seemed to dance on the paper, the words making no sense at all. Her head ached more than ever, and her senses were oblivious to her surroundings; the big plan of pretending nothing happened showed its first signs of failure.

All the effort Cuddy had put into ignoring the events that took place between her kiss with House and his departure to Mayfield had gone downhill like an uncontrollable roller coaster. The memories flooded into her head like a dam, the piercing baby blue stare before his mouth hungrily claimed hers, the bittersweet taste of his lips and tongue, the intoxicating scent of his skin, the loud roar of his motorcycle when he sped out down her street, the will to ask him to stay… The awkwardness of the day after, the wound in his hand, the teen-like avoiding… The kidnapping, the fear for his life clutching deep in her chest… The office sharing days, the teasing and bickering, the timid open up, the feel of his big hands grasping her breasts, the humiliation, the desk, the happiness, the way that slutty girl touched his face, the disappointment… The sad sound of his "Merry Christmas", his ever so cute baby-puking bonding endeavor with Rachel, the frustrated Methadone try, the tragedy with Kutner… Her brain worked frenetically, bringing back all the hurting reminisces she had consciously locked into a steel plated bullet proof Pandora box that once in tears she had sworn to never reopen, but it was now violated, spreading pain all over her body, sore heading south to her rewarming heart and making it miss a couple of beats.

Her mind was already going through his epic balcony announcement when a light shove on her shoulder mercifully freed her from the torture of her retrospective momentum. Looking back on a reflex, her hazy eyes caught the figure of Nurse Brenda, who handed her a pill and a water cup "Here. Your headache was already starting to spread." Brenda said with a smirk and walked away in her usual extra busy mode without waiting for any thanks. Cuddy shoved the pill inside of her mouth and downed it with the cool water - which felt surprisingly good in her dry mouth – and made a mental note to thank Brenda later, vainly wishing all of her employees were that insightful and discrete.

Taking a deep breath and doing her best to stabilize her Brazilian samba school beating heart, Cuddy decided to make a last round in the hospital, unusually starting by the fourth floor. She knew she would not be able to sleep tonight without certifying herself that House was ok, that the fall she had stupidly and cunningly provoked had not caused him anything worse than a luxation and a couple of bruises. She had survived his razor-sharp delivered speech of maturity, and based on the last months of their relationship, things would eventually go back to their common uneasiness and tension soon enough, but she could not live with the idea of hurting him, neither physically, nor emotionally. The alien feelings of hatred and selfishness might have blinded her, but his words had washed over her like a bucket of cold water, and she currently felt a sort of moral hangover, like waking up after a wild party drowning in vomit and shame.

Approaching the diagnostics department, Cuddy glanced at House's office. It was dark and locked. "I should have known", she thought to herself. House had long ago mastered the art of cutting work, always coming up with a lame excuse not to see patients and sneaking out of PPTH at her first sign of distraction; it was obvious he would make use of his "accident" to go home drink scotch and watch porn. The conference room was almost desert as well; no sign of the ducklings, except for Chase, who was gathering his stuff and putting his coat on. Cuddy observed silently as the aussie switched the lights off and closed the heavy glass door. She decided to talk to him; maybe he had any news on House, the relieving kind she needed to hear in order to regain her sanity.

"Dr. Chase. Leaving for the day?" Cuddy inquired, in the fakest casual tone known to man.

"Actually I had the day off today. The surgery team called me because House vetoed all the other surgeons, so I had to reschedule my dentist appointment to come here and fix his arm." Chase replied in an annoyed expression.

Surgery? House had had a fracture? Cuddy felt her stomach churn at the realization that her devilish prank had cost House a broken limb. Chase's cell phone rang and he politely asked for permission and answered it quickly. "Chase. --- Just finished, took me a lot longer than I thought… Had to repair some blood vessels and nerves with microsurgery and use a couple of pins, but the result was nice, he's gonna be fine." Cuddy's hand got instantly gelid and the blood suddenly ran out of her face. _This was not the plan; she had not wanted this…_ "Yeah, Wilson called his shrink about the possibility of using a low dose of narcotics, but Dr. Nolan admonished it could mess up with his rehab, so we'll stick to meds he's taking for his leg and hope for the best." Her former fading headache returned at once, on full force, and she would surely have puked if there was anything left from the salad she had eaten at lunch inside of her stomach. _Pain. He would be in excruciating pain…_ "Ok, I'll meet you guys in twenty, ok. Bye." Chase flipped his phone shut and shoved the device in his trouser's back pocket, his blue eyes moving back to Cuddy.

At this point, the hospital administrator's face was as pale as Casper the friendly ghost's. Chase scrutinized his boss' expression curiously, somehow surprised by the genuine concern he could see deforming her normally impassible features. He – _well, pretty much_ _the whole hospital_ – was aware of the indefinable connection between House and Cuddy; speculating about the existence of a top secret romantic relationship between them used to be one of team's favorite gossip topics on their leisure moments, until Cuddy started dating Lucas and parading him around the PPTH every time she had a chance. Once the implausible relationship between the Dean of Medicine and the P.I. went public, and House unaffectedly continued on his porn-watching low-cut-staring routine, the ducklings discarded their theory, which had been very close to become a thesis after the balcony's announcement months before.

However, that undisguised desolated look in her eyes, the despair unreservedly displayed on her face, that was different from everything he had ever seen, even when House got shot or in coma after the deep brain stimulation. There was something else there, something adding to the friend boss potential lover preoccupation… Wait. _Was it guilt?_ "Cuddy, are you ok?" Chase asked rhetorically, starting to get really worried about Cuddy's flabbergasted expression. She looked like she was about to faint, and Taub, Thirteen and Foreman were waiting for him at Sherry's.

Cuddy could feel Chase's eyes analyzing her closely, the surprise caused by her out of character reaction dripping on his inquisitive tone. He was about to touch her shoulder in a reanimation manner when her conditioned brain quickly switched back to administrator mode. "Yes, yes, don't worry. It's just low sugar, I haven't eaten in a while." she lied successfully, years of experience in dealing with donors finally coming at hand. "I was just going to ask you about House's surgery when your phone rang… I had no idea his injury had been so serious."

Even though Cuddy's heart was almost perforating a hole in her sternum, her words had flowed with enough naturalness to make Chase question his former assumption. Still puzzled by the suspicious coincidence between her low glucose level and the mention to House's medical condition, he provided the information that would allow him what he wanted the most in the moment: get the hell out of there. "Yeah, it was a pretty bad fall. His cane slipped in the ice, and fortunately he had enough reflexes to support his weight on his left arm, otherwise he could have bumped his head on the ice and suffered a cranial trauma. Still, 170 pounds usually creates a lot of damage to radios, in this case, a double fracture. But, as I've just told Foreman, the procedure was clean. A couple of months with a cast and physiotherapy and he should be fine."

The same lump of moments before was back on forming in the back of Cuddy's throat. Her mind worked in a Hollywood motion, imagining the exact moment of House's fall. Setting a trip wire so he could fall on a safe carpeted floor had been juvenile enough, but sneakily changing his parking space to make him limp on the snow, hoping he would slip on the ice, that was text book cruelty. God, how had she been capable of such inconsequence? How could she have risked his physical integrity, his life? That winter had been one of the snowiest ones in the last decade, the ER was replete of victims of the thin invisible slayer of ice that sticks to the pavement and causes all sort of nasty, sometimes severe injuries. She knew that, and she did not care. In fact, there were moments when she honestly craved it. But that was not her; Lisa Cuddy would never do this to another human being, especially the one she lov- well, that she cared about. "Aw, thank you for the info. You can go now, enjoy the rest of your day off. And don't worry, I'll pay you for the extra time." she said in an even tone trying to keep an appearance so Chase would not notice her "sugar" lowering again.

"Thank you. I'm joining the guys for drinks. See you tomorrow." Chase unnecessarily informed before turning on his heels and heading to the elevator. He was impatiently pressing on the lower button when Cuddy's voice echoed timidly on the long hall "Do you know which room he's in?"

"Yeah, I've just checked on him 10 minutes ago. He's in room 2C." Chase replied before getting in the elevator and pushing the lobby button.

The elevator doors closed, the aussie doctor's handsome figure disappeared behind the silver plates leaving Cuddy alone to be consumed by her lack of sugar and overload of guilt. Although there was nothing more appealing than the idea of instantly disappearing from the face of the Earth, her legs started to move as if they were on auto pilot, her mind a complete blur except for the command of coordinately moving her inferior limbs, flying down the stairs and taking her to the place where she unconsciously needed to be.

In House's room, Wilson sat resignedly by his friend's bedside, devotedly returning the favor done by the diagnostician not so long ago. He had spent the last 45 minutes trying to ignore his conscience, which screamed loudly, blaming him for the ultimate result of Cuddy's retaliation. He had clearly underestimated her negative reaction at his juvenile vendetta; it was only natural that she thought the whole thing was House's idea, but it had never occurred to him that she would be so contemptuous while architecting her payback. Technically, changing House's parking space did not constitute any cruel crime against mankind; Cuddy had already done it a couple of times - the last one to benefit someone on a wheel chair – but the new assigned spots were never too far from the old ones, making sure that House did not have to strain his leg on walking too long a distance from his vehicle to the hospital.

And the sudden absence of this thoughtfulness - which some would rather call overprotection – was as much as necessary to tell Wilson about the true intentions behind his boss radical parking lot rearrangements, moving House's space several yards away and forcing him to limp twice longer on the snowy slippery pavement. Of course she could not determine that House would actually slide on the ice and fall - and get _that_ injured – but she had obviously foreseen the risk of causing his friend some serious physical harm and showed absolutely no care about it, and in Wilson's personal criminal system that was more than enough to find her guilty.

The wonder boy oncologist's outraged mind was already working on an unforeseen face-shoving guilt speech to be solemnly delivered to Cuddy's new bitchy persona when the first opportunity came and her tiny figure timidly entered the room, moving with evident hesitation towards House's bed and asking gutlessly, almost in a whisper "How is he?"

The vision of Cuddy motioning her small hand to touch House's stubbled face added some degrees to Wilson's anger-boiling blood. He could see guiltiness dripping from her every pore, the same Bill Clinton's "I have never had any sexual relations with that woman" sort of look that House claimed to having seen displayed on her face when her dirty little secret was revealed a couple of months ago. Only this time, Wilson did not sympathize with her regret or was able to see any merit in it. "Unfortunately I can't say for sure. When he wakes up I'll ask and let you know, though... Never had my arm broken in two parts before, so, I'm afraid I can't give you a good enough answer..." he replied bitterly, the sour taste of sarcasm remaining on his tongue after the venomous words left his mouth.

Cuddy felt instantly jabbed in the face, although Wilson had not moved a single inch to knockout her with his "50 pounds of meanness" remark. Her fingers, which were less than an inch from touching House's cheek unconsciously refrained from doing so, and her hand remained lingering in the air when her astonished eyes moved up to scrutinize Wilson's brown ones. The indignation that coated her friend's chocolate orbs was even more hurtful than his extra sharp reply.

Cuddy's shocked gaze only managed to redden Wilson's world a shade or two. He had to recognize that there were some occasions when being a nice guy revealed itself a nearly impossible mission. Normally he would just keep his mouth shut, but today, _hell, he just_ _did not feel like it._ "I know what you think, Cuddy. You think I'm an angel without wings trying to keep my devil best friend from the darkness, right? You think I'm incapable of scamming against you, so House was the one responsible for my out-of-character act... So let me set things straight for you. I was the one who screwed you over, ok? I planned it, I executed it, and I got a huge kick out of it."

And the verbal hits just kept on coming, in a row, as if Wilson was seeing the evil boxer girl who broke Hillary Swank's neck on a wooden seat on "Million Dollar Baby" instead of his one decade friend and boss. There was absolutely no hidden trace of shame or repent in his confession, on the contrary, his pride was genuine. _What was wrong with him?_ "W-why did you do that, James? I tho-thought you were my friend..." Cuddy inquired in a stutter, utter astonishment compromising her usual eloquence.

The unexpected use of his first name caused Wilson to wave on his jerkiness resolution, his innate tendency to niceness menacing to take over. _Did Lisa really deserve such a harsh treatment?_ Her ocean blue glare of honest confusion worked like mermaid chanting, but Wilson was not to be tricked tonight. "Aw, don't James me, no need for first names here, Cuddy. So now I am your friend? A friend you didn't even bother on telling about your relationship..."

Cuddy's world has just fallen apart. Again. One of the few certainties she still had in life, the loyalty of James Evan Wilson, had just entered to the "oh, you didn't really believe it, did you?" group, right after Lindsay Lohan's bisexuality and new the new healthy addiction-free Amy Winehouse's lifestyle in Central America "So that's the issue here? I didn't give you a detailed report on my personal life and you decided to give me hell for it? How Gossip Girl of you!" Cuddy blurted out, full of indignation at what she considered a friend's "betrayal".

Wilson could not help but laugh bitterly at Cuddy's pretentiousness. She was actually thinking this was about her! Suddenly it felt really ironic that House was the one publically recognized as the greatest egomaniac on East Coast. "Aw, don't be ridiculous, Cuddy. I don't give a damn about your personal life, please... You can date, or screw around, or become a nun for all I care, as long as you don't hurt my best friend in the process." Wilson disdained, not really sure about the sincerity of his own words. Cuddy's welfare did matter a lot to him, but there was no way in hell he would let her know that.

Wilson's voice vibrated on Cuddy's eardrums, and out of the blue she could feel it again, the overwhelming flow of rage shooting through her veins and eliciting a dormant need to counter attack, to surrender to the self-defense instincts that had just filled up her heart with adrenaline, and caused her hands to ball into fists. House was right, jerkiness was addictive, indeed. While the politically correct and formerly dominant sensible part of her brain strived to retain a vile comeback to the source, stopping it from causing any irreparable damage to her already jeopardized friendship with Wilson, the uncontrollable overly sincere jerk one worked in a frenzy, mixing the words together to achieve the greatest destructive potential. "Come on, Wilson. You make it sound as if you've been the world's greatest best friend, and House was a fragile golden retriever puppy... He's an ass, and you made him get electro shocked in the brain to save your girlfriend and left him in a coma afterwards. Don't act so overprotective on me now; you might sound like a hypocrite." Cuddy delivered precisely and penetratingly as a scalp incision, regretting her infamous words immediately after they left her mouth.

Wilson could not recall the last time he had been punched in the face – or kicked in the gut - but it surely must have not hurt nearly as much as Cuddy's unpredictably mean comeback. How could she throw that in his face? How could she invoke the one time he had been too broken to be there for House to totally disqualify him as a friend? She, the one who had been there all along, who had witnessed the hell that Amber's premature death had sent him through… As Wilson struggled to deal with the appalling feeling that coated his soul, House's words of popular wisdom came to his mind right away '_Disappointment is for wimps. It's ok to feel angry once in a while._' Only now it sounded as an understatement; Wilson was not angry, he was royally pissed. "Did you---did you just...You bitch! How do you dare to bring that up?"

Cuddy's jaw dropped in astonishment. If someone had ever told her she would live to see the day when Wilson would crossly call her names she would have probably sent them to the psych ward for at least a month. _That have quite the nerve! _"What did you just call me?"

Wilson was still having trouble believing that such a vulgar term had slipped his always so careful and polite mouth – and had been addressed to a lady friend – when he did it again, unannounced, with a lot more emphasis than he had originally planned. "Bitch. That's what you've become, Dr. Cuddy. I'm surprised you haven't been hearing it more often."

Wilson's insult confirmation hit Cuddy like a brick wall. Despite this new alien commotion between them, she knew her friend and was absolutely certain about the strong character and noble values that once had made her trust him – unregretfully – the Head of Oncology. Even though his offense had just crushed her, deep down she was aware that it would have never left his mind and come to the outside world if he had not been set off enough to spill it out. Still, the hospital administrator-dean of Medicine's wounded pride was powerful enough to beat her contrition sentiment. "Oh, you're gonna regret those words…" Cuddy said on a menacing tone, showing her manicured claws once more.

Oh that was so sweet. First revenge, now threatening? Each word that left Cuddy's mouth only left Wilson more and more sickened. "Am I? What are you gonna do, fire me? As if I wasn't one of the five best oncologists on the East Coast. I can work wherever I want, Cuddy, so can House. No hospital in this country would have the guts to refuse him nowadays, not with his brilliance and renown. You feel so good about yourself for being the only one who dared to hire him but the truth is you've been putting up with his crap all these years because you're terrified of losing PPTH biggest asset. So go ahead, fire me. Fire us both. Unless you have a more physical punishment in mind, breaking a few more limbs, maybe…"

As if noticing that the long-dreadful World War III was about to break out right beside his hospital bed, House started to stir up, instantaneously diverting both Wilson and Cuddy's attention from their verbal figuratively-bloody duel. The two most important people in House's life looked at him compassionately, sincerely wishing they could help him to endure his pain with something more effective than empty words of encouragement.

The room was enveloped in a deafening and desolating silence, the atmosphere heavy and thick, full of authentic grief. Mass destruction ammunition had been irresponsibly and unnecessarily used and now there was nothing else to do but deal with the damage. Wilson felt the sourness of repent gradually invading his palate once he spotted Cuddy's ocean blue eyes tearing up, which made it awfully hard for him to do what was right. Still, House's good was clearly the priority at the moment. He would try his best to make amends with Cuddy later. "You should go. The effects of anesthesia are wearing off, he'll be waking up soon." Wilson said on his usual kind tone, pursing his lips at Cuddy's sad crying figure and resisting the urge to comfort her.

For the second time that day, Cuddy's legs solemnly denied her brain obedience. She could not just leave without talking to House and making sure he would be ok, without apologizing and hearing all the verbal abuse he would blurt out unceremoniously. She deserved a good part of them, anyway. "I'll wait. I need to talk to him." She calmly replied to Wilson's suggestion, not moving a single inch from her original position.

Wilson did not think it was possible, but the desperation and concern in Cuddy's mortified stare hurt even more deeply than her previous poisonous remark on what happened before Amber's death. Part of his guilty self sympathized with her; jerkiness was too magnetic, indomitable a force; he could tell by personal experience now. However, as much as it killed him to make things even worse for her, her presence there would only cause more conflict. "Lisa, be reasonable. House will wake up in a lot of pain and seeing you now will only cause him more distress." He reasoned in a soft voice. "I know you two have a lot to talk about, but now is not the moment. We've crossed enough lines today." He pleaded looking her in the eye, vainly hoping that after so many years of friendship she would be able to read the apology written in his expression.

Guilt would probably consume Cuddy in a matter of hours, but Wilson was definitely right. It was common sense that her timing with House had historically sucked; there was no logical reason why it would be any different today. Admitting that Wilson had a point, Cuddy nodded her head in resignation and wiped her stubborn tears with the back of her slender fingers as she turned back on her heels, heading to the glass door. Stopping by the exit, she turned her head once more and glanced one last time at her most secretly adored human being, still oblivious to the world, and sighed. This would be a long night.

_*song by "Radiohead"  
_

**_Reviews are love, especially the long, thoughtful, positive ones... LOL! Just kidding. Leave your message if you feel like it. :D_**


	3. A Beautiful Lie

_**Disclaimer:**_ I unfortunately own nothing beyond my deranged mind and my exquisite taste. House MD belongs to David Shore and FOX.

_**Readers of my heart, here it is, for your absolute delight – well, at least I hope so! – the third chapter of your Jerkiness saga. I'm so incredibly sorry about the delay, but I must make use of a very noble excuse to justify the recent lack of updates: this author who writes to you is no longer unemployed! **__**Now, besides Huddy fanfiction writer, Andie Matos is also a respectable and competent lawyer, how about that? So bear with me, guys, hang on in there and I'll manage to bring you more goodness. :D **_

_**Andie. **__**  
**_

_**A/N: **_As a big fan of music, I have my iPod as a primary source of inspiration. This story - as the others I've written and co-written - is musically influenced. Therefore, believing that a song can help the readers to better understand the author's intention while writing the story and consequently appreciate it even more, I've decided to name every chapter after the tune that moved me into creating _Jerkiness_, so you guys can have a soundtrack suggestion. :D (Check chapter one to find out which song has inspired it. ;)

_**Jerkiness**_

_**Chapter T**__**hree – A Beautiful Lie***_

His lips crashed into her mouth hungrily, his impatient and unskilled hands roaming disorderly all over her back and descending greedily to her bottom cheeks. Her brain did not have to send the command so she would reciprocate the kiss; it happened automatically, almost unnoticed as the gesture of stretching the limbs right after waking up. Her conditioned body proceeded on working on its own, recognizing his now familiar touch and reacting to it out of habit while her oblivious mind lost itself in an infinite blur of nothingness.

In spite of Lucas' well-intentioned yet useless efforts into turning her on, Cuddy's senses seemed to have shut down altogether by the moment he ceded to her request and decided to give her what she claimed to need so badly right now. Once the PI got home a few minutes past midnight to find his girlfriend still up, silently emptying a 400-hundred-dollar bottle of wine in front of the fireplace, grey eyes blank and distant, he instantly knew something was off. His inquisitive mind started to work frantically, wondering what might have happened to leave her at that state of mild catharsis.

After a long time wasted on formulating unanswered questions, Lucas had settled for playing Lisa's mysterious silence game and making himself even more ignorable by leaving her alone to drown in her own misery. He was already holding the doorknob and planning to head to a strip club when her hoarse whisper vibrated into his eardrums. "Make love to me", she asked in a demanding, drunk tone, and the stern look in her impassible eyes let him know right away that it was hardly a request.

Although knowing that outrage was probably the most logical reaction to her presumptuous attitude, Lucas could not help but get instantly aroused in response to the boy toy treatment he had just been dispensed. Cuddy was remarkably sexy for a handful of reasons, but the most irresistible one was definitely the power she had in her hands. The woman was clearly used to get whatever she wanted and never, ever took no for an answer, so who was he to deny her a whim? Especially such a pleasurable one? He had a clue that the cause of her extra-bitchy behavior might have something to do with his enemy of swords, and that having sex with him would serve as a meaningless and unashamed escape valve to a shitty day at work, but who the hell cared? Her conscience, her problem, not his. It was not like he had ever fooled himself that his relationship with Lisa was a true love story and they would eventually become a "I Love Lucy" family charade, harmonious and perfect enough to star in a cereal commercial.

Still, he did like her. He would not have wholeheartedly embraced the nanny-vibrator combo duty if he did not. So, if listening to her endless whining and providing some "common sense, not really helpful" sort of advice was hardly a satisfactory source of help, and sating her sexually was actually in order, he was doubtlessly the guy for it. With that in mind, Lucas eagerly went on his pleasure-providing duty, though once more missing the whole point of his ministrations; worshipping Cuddy's body had never been his final purpose, but only a quick and selfish step to reach the edge where she hardly ever got to accompany him.

Lucas now assaulted her neck and they both stumbled towards her bedroom. His grown beard scratched her sensitive skin, and his mouth sucked on it in true vampire fashion. His voracity would have surely disgusted her if she was not currently immersed in numbness and her body could actually feel something. Her wandering and equally senseless mind traveled back to an occasion when a light and welcome scraping reddened her lips and the skin nearby, leaving a tingling and disconcerting sensation of un-sate. _Good night_, he had mumbled, too little after his lips had claimed hers and the world had spun twice faster while she was safely locked in his embrace. How much time had they spent in each others' arms, a minute? Thirty seconds? Then, why had it felt so infinite, enough to fill up a lifetime?

Cuddy's eyes fluttered open once she realized what had just happened. Apparently she was having sex with Lucas, and her brain and body were royally failing on registering the whole act, too busy to acknowledge the existence of anyone other than Gregory House. Were her senses finally done with being disregarded by her rational mind, going on strike as a protest for being overruled all these months? All these years? Her back tumbled roughly against the mattress, and her eyes caught the view of a young ruffled man hurriedly removing his clothes and gazing at her wolfishly. Like a famished lion during a hunt, desire dripped from his lime green orbs. This was exactly how she felt, like a stupid, willing and disposable prey.

Her stomach immediately churned as the overwhelming realization sank in. It felt like going out of a trance, or maybe breaking a very potent long-cast spell. All the recent self-deceiving sentiment-ignoring efforts put to waste; Cuddy was suddenly back from her stupor. It was one powerful thing, self-suggestion, strong enough to make her believe she was actually in love with the boxer-removing man before her. In a vain endeavor to go back to that safe and comfortable place also known as denial, she closed her eyes once again and tried her best to enjoy the feeling of Lucas climbing on top of her, forcefully grinding his pelvis against hers and unceremoniously pressing his erection against her unresponsive sex. It did not work. Her body was back in anesthetic mode, and her now overloaded mind searched desperately for pieces of good memories to reactivate her recent lost desire for the man who had been her boyfriend for the last eight months. She could barely sense his nervous hands fumbling for her clasp with impatience, his mouth planting wet kisses all over her now exposed cleavage. Her saliva-coated skin seemed utterly indifferent to the contact with his and her uninterested ears refused to pay close attention to the animalistic sounds that escaped his lips.

No, this was not possible, Cuddy thought to herself in astonishment. It could not have all been a lie. No one could fool him or herself that long. Suddenly the last months seemed more and more unreal, as if everything had just been covered by a very thick veil. Forcing her mind into a flashback, Cuddy vaguely remembered feeling happy and fulfilled with coming home to a hot meal to shut up her noisy stomach and to a warm body to snuggle against her worn out chilly one. She recalled agreeing to be late for work just to have the world's quickest quickie before starting another stressful day at PPTH. She remembered telling House to butt the hell out of her life and unjustly retaliating towards him for trying to destroy her golden and ultimately utopian family-building dream. And above all things, she remembered giving up on a huge part of her heart and soul by smothering a two-decade love. The only piece of the puzzle that no longer fit was how she had managed to do it and why it felt so horrifying now.

The deadness that permeated her being was gradually being substituted, ache mercilessly taking its place. Insensible to the turmoil that took place inside Cuddy's confused head, Lucas unaffectedly continued on his pursuit of pleasure, sating his love hunger by exploring every inch of her inert body. Cuddy simply laid there, surrendered by the rule of her memories, tears forming in her desolated eyes as the movie that had started playing earlier at PPTH was back on broadcasting, pitilessly uncensored.

_This is the only me you get_, House had solemnly informed her, pain and rejection navigating freely on ice blue after she once more failed on letting him know how much she cared about him, how there was no one else she had wanted more to attend her daughter's _simchat bat_ a week earlier. Cuddy sourly regretted all the moments she had let House think he was unwelcome in her life, unable to be aware of any of Lucas' advances. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks while her boyfriend's mouth sucked greedily on her right nipple and his left hand massaged the neglected breast tactlessly.

_I told you that I needed you, you-you helped me._ House's words had sounded so pure, almost naïve back then. His mind had chosen her as his savior, and she had let him down. That had been the first time she had ever walked out, and there had not been one single day after that awful afternoon in which remorse had not kicked her in the gut. _I think we should move in together_, he had proposed in advance with a half-grin of hope she had mistaken as mockery. Everything made perfect sense once he confessed to her about his hallucination, a night when he shared his misery with her followed by a morning when he showed her how much he truly loved her. The two most powerful forces in his life, too overwhelming to leave the confines of his mind and reach the outside world creating an alternative reality where they could finally be manifested.

Cuddy's ears only just took notice of the particular fabric-tearing sound of her underwear being rudely ripped from her body. _I was gonna call you_. House had revealed to her a precious piece of information of their buried past while they both swayed to an equally nostalgic 80's song. After more than twenty years of coping with House's rejection, Cuddy had felt his revelation wash over her life a bucket of cold water. He had wanted her just as bad as she had craved him back in college days, and destiny was actually the one to blame for the chance they had been denied.

Still lost in her reverie, Cuddy ignored the fact that Lucas was mere centimeters from his final goal. The PI awkwardly positioned himself between her thighs and prepared to dive into her warmth, not bothering on putting a condom on as she always demanded him to. Cuddy's flashback was now outside Wilson's old apartment, the first act of her breakup simulation. _There is no us. There never will be._ She remembered how prophetic those words sounded now and how bitter they had tasted in her mouth back then when an unexpected and piercing sting irradiated from her core to her lower limbs, instantly dragging her back to reality. Lucas's penis thrusted deeply inside of her dry and unready canal and Cuddy immediately felt all of her previous angst materialize itself in pain and revulsion in the moment the same man she once believed to love looked like a violator crushing her small frame beneath his own. "Stop!" she yelled, pushing Lucas' body away from hers vigorously.

Startled by Cuddy's sudden aggressive behavior, Lucas immediately stopped moving and unburied his face from her neck once he felt her tiny hands shoving him away. "Hey, what's wrong with you?" he asked in a half-confused half-indignant tone, trying to duck from her frantic jabs but not removing his rigid member from her core.

Disgusted, Cuddy struggled to get rid of Lucas' grasp. As her inferior limbs moved to throw him away, she could still feel his manhood pressing hurtfully against her walls. "Get the hell off! You're hurting me!" She shrieked in desperation, starting to panic at the possibility that he might go on against her will. The fact that he did not even inspect her wetness before penetrating or cared about using protection let her know right away he was not concerned about her well-being. _For God's sake, how could she have settled for this?_

Still dazzled by Cuddy's outburst, Lucas did the only acceptable thing and carefully withdrew his sex from hers before moving away from her fidgeting body. No way would he ever force a woman to have sex - he was not a monster - not even when she had been the one to start things up and changed her deranged mind right in the middle of the act. "Hey, are you bipolar, or something? You were the one who asked for it." He accused angrily, reaching for his discarded boxers and throwing them on.

Drowning in humiliation and self-repugnance, Cuddy slipped under the wrinkled sheet and covered her naked body in shame, trembling hands dully wiping the tears that still flowed free from her eyes. "Just leave, please." She begged in an afflicted tone, curling up in a ball and snuggling against the bed frame in a defensive attitude.

Cuddy was definitely breaking down, and although Lucas had no idea why, he could not help but feel terrible and assume his share of guilt in her wretchedness. He had been too caught in up in lust to realize Cuddy had been crying all along, her body failing to reciprocate any of his caresses, and the thought he might have injured her out of selfishness was utterly disturbing. Approaching her carefully, he asked softly "What's going on, Lisa? Whatever it is, I'm here for you."

_You're not House. That's what's going on._ Cuddy thought to herself as Lucas tried to touch her arm reassuringly and she withdrew it on a reflex. "Just leave, please. There's really nothing else you can do." She dismissed coldly, averting her gaze from his in order to hide her sickened expression. She had no intentions of hurting him too; her daily jerkiness quota had already been exceeded earlier in PPTH.

That was it, the long foreseen ending to an essentially implausible relationship. Lucas had grown to know Cuddy well enough in the last few months to tell that her request was definitive. She was throwing him out of her life just as abruptly as she had let him in, and he would be a hypocrite in saying he did not see it coming. It had actually been very flattering to be chosen as House's surrogate, and he had definitely had some fun playing house with the unique and gorgeous woman before him, but it was about time to go out of scene before the tragic ending that awaited the main roles was able to affect his supporting character. He had his own story to star in.

The room remained silent as a crypt while Lucas finished getting dressed and Cuddy strived to display some dignity in front of her ex-lover. She knew she owed him better than that, a more honest and considerate explanation as to why she was banishing him from her universe like the Chinese did with their criminals, but the day had just drained all of her strength. She felt completely empty and free from any goodness, sure that each and every word that eventually escaped her lips would cause nothing but lasting damage. Lucas was a good man, and if ever came the day when she would feel like a decent person again, she would do her best to make it up to him.

"I'll send someone for my stuff." Lucas informed buttoning up his shirt and breaking the deafening silence in the room. Cuddy simply nodded, relieved once the PI motioned towards the door. "Tell Rachel I said goodbye, ok?" He uttered sadly, a lump forming itself in the back of his throat right after he mentioned the name of the baby girl he had grown sincerely fond of.

Cuddy did not fail to notice the grief in Lucas voice, and it stung deep in her already lacerate heart. As the tears were back sprouting from her eyes, an apology slipped her vacillating lips in a murmur "I'm sorry."

"Me too." Lucas replied, taking one last look at the most incredible woman he had ever met before exiting her house for good. As a wise poet once said, flames are infinite while they last.

The front door slammed shut; that was all Cuddy needed to come undone. Her otherwise unsuccessfully restrained cry - and melancholy – washed over her with more intensity than before, the loneliness is more unbearable now that the last column of her castle of cards had just been blown and crumbled to the ground. Yet, one alien feeling surpassed all the other destructive ones that assaulted Cuddy's soul: the need to escape, to take the most sacred and wonderful love source she had in her messed up life and disappear.

Without a second thought, Cuddy stretched her arm to reach for her blackberry on the nightstand, pressing number five on the speed dial and clearing her throat before gutturally replying to the person on the other end "Wilson?"

House struggled to chop the thick pancakes he had been cleverly served for breakfast without using a knife when Wilson entered his hospital room after more than five hours of absence, worry and tiredness deforming his boyish features. Unwilling to ask wonder boy oncologist directly about his whereabouts and in a fruitless try at nonchalance, House glanced at his best friend intending to ask for some help with the food, but Wilson surprised him by throwing a 1000 megaton bomb on his lap without any proper announcement or introduction "Cuddy's gone."

The request for elaboration came in a glare form. "She called me really desperate in the middle of the night, asking me to come over. You were out again because of the Ibuprofen, and I was concerned and regretful about yelling at her yesterday night so I went there." Wilson started, fast and unintelligibly like a bad soccer's radio announcer "She was already packing when I arrived…"

Wilson continued on narrating his tale and House found it quite hard to believe that Cuddy was actually its protagonist. Lisa was not the kind of person who flips out and bails to God knows where, leaving her older child to a stranger's care. Of course she had been lucid enough to ask Wilson's help with the board but it did not change the fact that she showed absolutely no concern about the person they might invest as the temporary Dean while she was on leave, an unapproved and indefinite one, by the way. It had been an out-of-character decision, even more so than all previous demonstrations of jerkiness he had shoved in her face the day before, and there was only one fitting piece to solve that puzzle: desperation. Cuddy had exploded, and he had been the one to light up the fuse.

"When did her flight depart?" House inquired after a couple of minutes of thunderstruck silence, stopping Wilson's frenetic blabbing. Maybe it was still time to stop her from leaving and getting her ass back to PPTH, the place where she belonged, under his sight.

"She only told me she was tired of the cold and was heading south. No specifics." Wilson explained with a baffled expression. "I only volunteered to drive her and Rachel to the airport hoping I would have more time to talk her out of doing this stupidity, but she didn't say a single word during the whole ride and once we got to Newark she mumbled a thank you and walked away with her kid without looking back." The oncologist completed, having a tough time believing his own words.

House's heartbeat matched the violent throbbing in his arm and leg. There was only one option available, the last resource he would not even cogitate using in non-extreme circumstances. Grabbing his cell phone on the nightstand, he dialed Cuddy's number while his mind worked its hardest on summarizing twenty years of feelings in the less ridiculously possible half-minute speech.

After a few seconds of heart-fibrillating anticipation, House sorrowfully realized his long-delayed love words could no longer be of any use; Cuddy's cell was off. She was unreachable.

_*song by "__30 Seconds to Mars" _

_**Guys, I'm s**__**o sorry if this was hard to read. I didn't like to write it either, but it was absolutely necessary for the story to continue and get to the point where I want it, the point where I can give you what you deserve, what you've all been waiting for. Any clues of what I'm referring to? ;D**_

_**Reviews are love, especially the long, thoughtful, positive ones... **__**LOL! Just kidding. Leave your message if you feel like it. :D**_


	4. Heroes and Saints

_**Disclaimer:**_ I unfortunately own nothing beyond my deranged mind and my exquisite taste. House MD belongs to David Shore and FOX.

_**Hello guys! Paraphrasing the eminent Slim Shady's famous words "it feels so good to be back…":D I know I owe you guys some serious explanations for the delay on updating, and this unforgivable lack of consideration may have cost me your fidelity as readers but I don't hesitate on trying to get redemption by bringing you this piece. I love you guys, very much so. I hope it placates the withdrawal we've all been experiencing since those intertwined hands faded black on the screen. **_

_**BTW, is it September yet? :D**_

_**XOXO**_

_**Andie**_

_**A/N: **_As a big fan of music, I have my iPod as a primary source of inspiration. This story - as the others I've written and co-written - is musically influenced. Therefore, believing that a song can help the readers to better understand the author's intention while writing the story and consequently appreciate it even more, I've decided to name every chapter after the tune that moved me into creating _Jerkiness_, so you guys can have a soundtrack suggestion. :D

_**Jerkiness**_

_**Chapter **__**Four – Heroes and Saints***_

Fresh out of the shower, House struggled to put his nylon brace on, the irritating throbbing in his radius worsening his already unfriendly mood. In spite of his standard whining, he had to admit doctors had made a pretty good job: there was no crippling danger this time, no bigger consequences to his injury other than an unnoticeable scar on his already multiply marked skin as his arm healed faster than expected. After the first couple of days of post-op, the pain had revealed itself far more endurable than he feared. Ibuprofen had been enough to take the edge off most of the times, and Wilson's magic bathtub proved to be very effective in other parts of his body besides his bum leg.

The last six weeks had crawled on the calendar like an old turtle with four casted limbs. As ironic and contradictory as it might seem, not having to hide from Cuddy, or to listen to her endless –_ and useless_ – orders and complaints did not make House happy in the least. Her absence, far from having the presumable freeing effect on him, worked like steel chains and shackles, forcefully attaching him to her memory.

There was absolute no fun in screwing with the temporary Dean either once he could do it effortless at home anytime he pleased. As House had predicted – as well as Cuddy, who oddly had shown no concern regarding the matter of her substitution - Wilson had been the poor mortal forced by the board to accept the ungrateful duty of replacing Cuddy as long as her midlife crisis lasted, which doubled his work load and annihilated the rest of sense of humor wonder boy oncologist still nourished inside of his politically correct self. So much for using the B word… After moving into Cuddy's office and sighing before her paperwork Parthenon replica, Wilson solemnly vowed to never mess with women ever again, especially with his brilliant cunning badly-adjusted friend and boss. Cuddy and her vengeance skills were making Snow White's stepmother look like Lucy.

Cuddy had taken the whole concept of absent leave way too literally, not bothering on making any direct verbal contact except for one drunken phone call three days after her escapade. Back then, House had just spent another evening watching Japanese BDSM porn and drowning his inner demons in cheap bourbon, and was fast asleep when Beyoncé's hit _Check On It _unceremoniously brought him back from his stupor. Groggily patting on the nightstand to get his iPhone, he almost hung up on a first aggravated impulse, his sleep-slowed mind taking a while to recognize Cuddy's personalized ringtone. Nevertheless, it did not take longer than two seconds for his synapses to speed back up to its usual extra-fast rhythm once his incredulous eyes read her name on the small screen.

"_Where the hell are you?" House__ domineeringly inquired after accepting the long-awaited call, hardly detaining himself in the ordinary saluting ritual while the deafening music in the background got to his unprepared eardrums like a hammer shoving nails in a brick wall. _

_Seemingly amused, __Cuddy guffawed at his ruggedness. "Where else could I be? It's Carnival, I'm in Rio!" She responded with a calculated over-enthusiastic tone, a drunken casualness coating her strident ineloquent voice as if her whereabouts were actually the most obvious thing in the world._

_House's mind got __temporarily unfocused by all the noise on the other end, an unrecognizable shaky rhythm playing at full volume followed by an unintelligible inebriated chorus. He tried hard to identify the foreign language when Cuddy's Northeastern accent filled his ears for the second time that night "I'm just calling to let you know I've just been proposed to marriage by a famous sexy samba singer and I'm definitely inclined to say yes unless you do something about it." She proclaimed with a fake somberness before bursting out laughing again._

_House's eye__brows instantly creased in fret. The plain – yet outright maddening – conjecture of Cuddy being all alone, wasted and unprotected on the other side of the continent, an easy prey to every unscrupulous horny male around was enough to tie his stomach on a stiff knot, terror accelerating his heartbeats and cooling his sweaty hands. The otherwise atrophied guilt center of House's brain lit up like a Las Vegas Casino front and blamed him for setting her off, for dragging her out from her suburban idyllic happy family charade and throwing her out of the tracks. She had been capable of leaving her comfort zone and running off to South America just to avoid dealing with him. What if he had indirectly put her in serious danger? He had such a gift to ruin people's lives, whether he intended to or not…_

_Amber's face flashed before House's eyes and his whole body shuddered to the possibility of giving cause to another tragedy, only this time one that would surely take him to his grave. When the sound of Cuddy's energetic laughter got nearly impossible to hear, House's fright officially turned into panic. Freaking out altogether, he screamed her name in vain two or three times, which almost cost Wilson and the whole neighborhood their peaceful sleep, until an equally intoxicated male tone echoed playfully in the surroundings "Who are you talking to?"_

_Hearing the phrase in English allowed House to finally let go the breath he did not even know he had been holding. Yet, relief had always been too perishable a fix for him, addicted as he was to his strong negative self-degrading emotions. As his heart got back to its regular pace after finding out that Cuddy was not unaccompanied as he imagined, House's mind quickly processed the information that there was probably someone known and trustful taking care of her and Rachel, being the knight in shining armor guarding them both from any hazard in their third world adventure. Lucas was automatically inferred as the most likely candidate for the honorable duty, the invincible assumption that Cuddy had reconsidered her position and called her low class Boy Toy to take place in her vacation tormenting House as a pound weight gain does to a bulimic supermodel. _

_House's shoulders __reflexively slumped in defeat and he gathered all the last molecules of courage and self-respect he had left and ordered himself to hang up when the previous male voice was back molesting his ears just to prove his theory wrong. _

_The half-deaf diagnostician__ was fully convinced the gruff tone was not Lucas's when his tympanums were nearly ruptured by the second screech. "Helloooo! Who iiiis this?" The man demanded with drunken impatience, under Cuddy's distant yet audible protests to have her symbiotic Blackberry back. Her girlish giggles kept him from switching back to his US airports-like paranoid mood and panicking about her safety, yet left jealousy free and comfortable to take the best of him in a sort of Incredible Huck's angry-greening fashion. Who the hell was this motherfucker? _

_"No, dickhead. Who are you?"__ House childishly shot back at the anonymous man with his finest "famous rapper ex-drug dealer" lexical. It had become public knowledge that House's personal Slang and Swear Words Thesaurus was the second vastest one in his overworking brain, beaten closely by a mile-long list of unpronounceable medical terms. _

_The mysterious man rejoined House's rudeness with a guttural and earnest laugh __"Whoa, buddy. Maybe it's cool to insult people in your country but we Brazilians are different!" He admonished with fake indignation once the crack up died down, much to Cuddy's delight, which momentarily silenced her efforts to rescue her cell phone. _

_There are__ certain peculiar moments in life when nothing is left for you to do except pointlessly__ state the obvious. "Cuddy is really in Brazil?" House asked rhetorically while his dumbfounded mind still strived to convince himself that Lisa Cuddy had forsaken her almost sacerdotal job at PPTH and headed to the four-day South American version of Sodom and Gomorra. That was something HE would do. _

_House proved from his own venom for briefly forgetting about the maxim 'to stupid questions, zero tolerance' as the stranger answered his shock__ed inquire by mouthing an obnoxious "Duh."_

_House's fists balled insentience preparing __for a fight. It was such a pity Fed Ex did not deliver jaw-breaking lip-slashing nose-cracking jabs… "Let me talk to her again." He demanded, caveman genetic remnants kicking in and urging him to yank his female back home by her hair._

_Apparently, Mr. X was up for a heated dispute for the Alpha Male title. "No. With such a foul mouth you are not allowed to talk to my princess." The man prohibited, now in a sterner yet still pretty smashed tone._

_House's indignant reaction to__ Mr. X nauseatingly sappy treatment was just about juvenile. "Your princess? What are you, a drag queen?" House managed to ask wittily even though rage did not allow him to properly appreciate his own joke. _

_To House's ultimate frustration, Mr. X kept his__ "in more ways than one" high spirits and chortled wholeheartedly. "Negative again. I am her cousin." He revealed with mocking nonchalance, still choking with laughter, and shouted to someone in a heavy Portuguese "__Caralho, meu irmão, o cara é maior pau no cu que eu já vi!__"_

_Lisa's cousin? House's mind accessed his old memory files straight away, looking for any available information on Cuddy's clan while the language center of his brain translated Mr. X last sentence and identified the insult in it. __"So much for being different." House reproached sarcastically once the memory of Jacob Cuddy's flamboyant persona escorting Lisa during a fundraiser came to him in one of his famous epiphanies. Back then, the millionaire stock broker went on and on about his decision of quitting his overly stressful job and pursuing true happiness at some tropical paradise after miraculously surviving a massive heart attack. That "God given second chance" kind of crap. House remembered considering – and an hour and five shots of bourbon later, openly calling - the guy a hypocrite, much to Lisa's dismay, but ultimately Cuddy's family wit and talent to banter had its usual effect on him, which rendered Jacob a relative amount of respect. Oh well, Housian respect… "Aw Jake, I know you've just brought up penises and asses cuz you desperately want mine in yours, but I'm sorry. Not gonna happen!" House counterattacked, a faint smile creeping up on his lips once Jake cracked up on the other end._

_Sense of humor proved to be a powerful ice-breaker as the previous tension instantly softened into camaraderie __"Well I learn fast...Dr. House, wasn't it?" Jacob asked gratuitously after noticing House's tone was no longer coated in hostility._

_Jacob __being a reliable – and unquestionably gay - caretaker made things much easier for House. "Yeah." He timidly confirmed his identity and forgot about any additional mockery while struggling to verbalize his concern. For him, it felt like confessing a felony. "Hey, I have no idea what Lisa is doing there but…" House started and stopped midsentence, feeling pathetic altogether "Just keep an eye on her. Don't let her do something stupid." He finally managed to complete, reddening to a ripe tomato's shade as he always did every time he dared peeking out of his shell to show that he cared._

_House's embarrassment __and anxiety must have been large enough to be perceived two Americas down because Jacob was surgically accurate on getting to the bottom of things. "Look. We all have our own ways to lick our wounds. This is hers, as well as mine. Give her time to heal and she might be back to you. Eventually." He counseled thoughtfully, demonstrating an odd familiarity with the situation._

_"__What did she tell you?" House demanded, back to his former standard discourteous tone. The idea of having his messed up existence be public business again was definitely not appealing; it was humiliating enough that Cuddy had recklessly told Lucas about the hallucinations; she did not need to scorn him to anybody else._

_House's __unfriendly retort was the clue Jacob needed to hang up. "Nothing your ego can't take." The Cuddy man deflected, mindful that providing any more information would be equivalent to adding gas to Greg and Lisa's conflagration of a relationship. As far as he knew, the emotional burning up was already too hard to defeat without him contributing to the flames' spread. Before House could come up with any snarky reply, Jacob excused himself hastily. "Look, Lisa is trying to steal my caipirinha again, I gotta go. Tchau." _

_The beeping sound reverberated sadly in House's ears and he futilely pressed on the end button while his fast-beating heart slowed back to its usual apathetic rhythm. It felt like having a lollipop yanked out of his mouth after a first way-too-quick lick. House was not ready to hang up yet, not without hearing Lisa's alcohol-induced melodically sexy voice one last time, and now there was nothing else to do but finish the last third of bourbon that still lingered in the uncapped bottle over the nightstand and hope for Morpheus to come back and take him to a lenient state of unconsciousness._

_Oddly enough, the god of sleep was in the best of his generous Greek mood and promptly acquired to show House some mercy. Nevertheless, an uninterrupted and restful night of comatose sleep did not keep him for sulking all day, a bitching hangover adding to his already renowned insufferable mood. While the ducklings were all over the hospital trying to earn their paychecks by doing something marginally useful, House blatantly killed the work day lying in his ergonomic chair when a beep on his iPhone brought him back from his self-induced catharsis. It was an MMS from Cuddy. "Sorry for waking you up", it said plainly, followed by a picture that was more convincing alone than all the possible arguments she could have made on her behalf._

_H__er adorable makeup-less and slightly tanned features appeared on the screen like a faint light ray breaking a never-ending darkness. The green-blue of her eyes magically matched the shade of the ocean in the background, her naturally curly curls waving in the air, caressed by the wind. House felt like a shot of life was being infused back into his weary self as his blood rewarmed and accelerated its flow inside of his veins. She looked absolutely dazzling, the sultry scenario behind her dulling altogether in comparison to her beauty. _

_It would be easy to everybody else to get distracted by the breathtaking __tropical rainforest majestically adorning the mountains nearby, but the poorly concealed sadness in Cuddy's smile did not go unnoticed by House. As he examined the picture closely trying to decipher the feelings that navigated freely in her smoky mysterious eyes, Jacob's corny speech from the night before replayed in his mind, now sounding more reasonable. As a matter of fact when fleeing to Brazil, Cuddy had done nothing but replicate his desperate measure of months before when he self-checked into Mayfield Psychiatric Hospital in order to regain sanity. Though the difference between a centenary Looney Bin and a tropical paradise was too evocative to be ignored, it was not like House could blame Cuddy for having a chubbier bank account and much better taste for refuge spots._

_Five minutes of uninterrupted reverence later, the picture's mesmerizing effect started to wear off and House, as a legitimate addict, found himself in instant withdrawal as his hungry eyes craved more of her beauty. The need to see her far surpassed any sense of stupid and useless pride he had left, and his avid fingers did not hesitate on texting her back and beg for his fix. "Never mind. Just keep the pics coming."_

_And so they did, day after day, __filling the device's 4mb memory card with paradisiacal landscapes and House's heart with unavoidable hope. Picture by picture, House watched the angst gradually dissipate from Cuddy's expression like cumulus nimbus being swept from the sky, an alien serene aura now lingering around the angel he had been fooled to believe for years to be only a woman. As the days grew into weeks, part of Jacob's cliché prophecy was being fulfilled; Lisa was visibly healing. What about the rest? Would it ever become true, as well? Would she ever go back to House?_

The loud sound of the doorbell dragged House back to the present time, his overdriven mind emerging from the black hole of endless speculations and tuning back to reality. That was one of the downsides of being Wilson's roommate: social responsibility. Wonder boy oncologist and his obsession with being irritatingly gracious had cost House the habit of remaining completely oblivious to the outside word. Once known in his neighborhood as the hostile limping poltergeist, House had shamefully turned into the cute doctor's melancholic and disabled friend. If it was not for the fact that some women stupidly dug on wretchedness, he would have surely taken the matters of his public pathetic image into his own hands and done something about it.

Limping unwillingly to the front door, House did not bother on putting a shirt on, his broad and still humid chest fully exposed as he psychologically ordered himself not to be irrevocably rude with whatever neighbor was insistently testing the noisy device's quality. Taking a deep relaxing breath, House grasped the doorknob and swirled it quickly, his eyes incredulously glaring at the unexpected visitor.

The tanned and slightly flushed skin of Cuddy's face was incompatible with the winter outfit she was sporting, black skirt and trademark extra-high Christian Louboutin stilettos that only called more attention to her perfectly-shaped stocking-covered legs. The expensive black leather jacket superposing a scarlet turtleneck sweater along with the disheveling of her naturally curly hair gave her a sexy rebel look, and House clenched his jaw and dry swallowed once the first particles of her _Euphoria by Calvin Klein_ invaded his nostrils and activated his salivary glands.

Even though it was obviously pretty late to come up with any decent disguise to his utter bewilderment, House was not handing her the gold that easily. "Wow, you've gone far for that genuine wax experience. I hope the results were worth the effort of tracking the original source, I could definitely give you an input…"

Cuddy's heart sped up on its already galloper pace when House's overwhelmingly tall and half naked figure towered in front of her, his ice blue orbs on the verge of popping out of their cages in shock. The box in her hands got twice heavier as her eyes run all over his robust frame, some tiny drops of water still glistening on the poorly dried skin of his chest. He had a damp towel folded on his right shoulder, his grey and sparse tufts still wet from a recently taken shower. And God, he smelled delicious, a perfect combination of the citrus soap's fragrance with his natural male intoxicating scent. Whether the view above the Equator line of his waist was quite disturbing alone, Cuddy was instantly sold out in the moment her eyes caught on the south hemisphere, barely covered by a pair of old light grey sweatpants. She bit reflexively on her lower lip at the first inevitable and kinky thought that invaded her mind; would he be wearing anything under those shabby trousers or were they the unique physical obstacle between her and the object of her lust?

In a desperate endeavor of shaking the sexual musing away, Cuddy focused on House's amusing comment and flashed her usual lopsided smile. "This is kinda heavy, you know?"

"Sorry. Out of spare limbs upstairs. Two and a half functional ones downstairs at your disposal, though." House ingeniously exempted himself from helping Cuddy by raising both his momentarily unavailable hands – the right holding the cane and the left immobilized in the nylon brace – and offered her his trademark cocky half-grin.

Although he had no purpose other than going back to the safe ground of banter and dissolving the thick atmosphere of awkwardness that remained lingering between them, House could tell his humorousness had had an unforeseen side effect on Cuddy as her eyes laid on his injured arm and she pursed her lips in a contrite manner.

That was a personality trait they had in common, obsession. His with misery, hers with guilt. In the past, House had not wavered on taking advantage of what he considered to be Cuddy's major – and maybe only – weakness, but now he could not afford the risk of pushing her away by any means. He had patiently waited almost two months until regret and sorrow disappeared from her look, there was no way he was putting them back there.

Before Cuddy could shrink a few more inches in shame, House placed his cane over the box she was carrying and yanked it out of her grasp, getting instantly surprised by the weight of it. "There better there be a samba dancer inside this." House grumbled when the load harassed his broken bone as he limped to the kitchen leaving Cuddy behind to shut the front door closed. Still surprised by his unforeseen chivalrous gesture, she entered the condo vacillatingly, her unjerked mind struggling to believe a crisis of Mexican telenovela proportions had been created over real estate. She was also intrigued by the place's lack of furniture, the living room completely empty except for a horrendous orange couch and a giant flat screen plugged to a DVD player. _Porn-watching videogame-playing bourbon-downing lodge, check_, she thought to herself.

Except for a smokin' hot samba-dancing _mulata_, the 15-pound box was packed with a countless amount of the most diverse Brazilian souvenirs, from the national soccer team official shirt – which House hated and discarded at the first sight – to a collection of Bossa Nova CDs, a handful of books in Portuguese and even a couple of liver-damaging liquor bottles. "I was told one hasn't actually lived until their _caipirinha_ debut." Cuddy offered jokingly when House held out the _cachaça_ liter with an interrogative expression on his face.

As he continued emptying the loaded box, House had a hard time deciding which item he liked the most. Everything had been so considerately picked out; hell, he could even think of a pair of washed out navy blue Levi jeans that would go perfectly with that dreadful yellow shirt… He had never been given such a numerous quantity of great and original gifts at once; well, truth to be told, he rarely got any presents at all. But those, those objects were definitely fruit hours of deliberation – and a couple of decades of acquaintance -, the physical evidences that he had occupied Cuddy's thoughts at the same time she had been the protagonist of his. An irrefutable proof of positive reciprocity, that was a new concept for House.

Only the last thing in the box did not exactly match the Housian style. House's brow furrowed in puzzlement once he pulled out a small second-hand book and read its title. It was a sonnet anthology by one of the greatest Brazilian poets of all times, Vinícius de Moraes. The diagnostician had no time to verbalize his confusion, though; Cuddy hurried on explaining herself "Aw, this one is mine. Jake gave it to me and told me he'll be waiting for an English version of at least one of the poems every weekend. He says he's not translating anything for me anymore, that I have to learn Portuguese if I wanna go visit him again." She clarified, her tone coated in missing and a lovely grin adorning her face to the mention of her favorite cousin.

What Cuddy had just told him about the book made House curious, and he proceeded to examine it closely, a chuckle escaping his lips at Jacob's funny dedicatory. His fingers slowly passed the pages and his eyes briefly scanned them until one of the poems caught his attention. He got to read the verses attentively and Cuddy wondered whether to ask him about them or not when he suggested "Can I help you with this weekend's homework?"

"Sure." Cuddy conceded with a faint smile, her recently regulated heart rate back to skyrocketing in anticipation.

House held Cuddy's gaze for a moment before reciting the title. "Absence", he barely whispered, and his eyes moved back to the paper...

_I will let die in me the desire of loving your eyes, which are sweet_

_Because I will not be able to give you anything but the heartache of seeing me eternally exhausted._

_Still__, your presence is whatever thing like light and life_

_And I feel that in my gesture there is your gesture, and in my voice there is your voice._

_I do not want to have you because in my self everything would be ended._

_I only want you to materialize in me like faith to the desperate_

_So I can take the one drop of dew from this damned land _

_That remained over my flesh like a stain from the past._

_I will leave… You will go and rest your face in another face._

_Your fingers will entwine other fingers and you will bloom to the dawn._

_But you will not know that I was the one who cut you, because I was the night's greatest intimate. _

_Because I touched my face in the face of the night, and heard your amorous speech._

_Because my fingers interlaced mist's fingers, which were suspended in space._

_And I brought to me the mysterious essence of your disordered abandonment. _

_I will be alone like the sailing ships at the silent spots._

_But I will have you like no one else because I will be able to see you leave._

_And all the laments of the sea, and the wind, and the sky, and the birds, and the stars._

_Will be your present voice, your absent voice, your serene voice. _

Once House was done declaiming the poem, Cuddy knew those verses no longer belonged to Mr. Moraes. Greg had just made them his, theirs, with all the truth and sentiment that emerged in his modulated voice. That was, indeed, the story of their love, a whole novel entrenched between the lines that never really had the chance to be written. An idea safely locked inside of their hearts and minds for being both so wonderful and terrifying, the shortcut that could either lead to ultimate bliss or eternal damnation. Their life-altering choice to make. She also knew the poet was probably right, that going all in when you were not sure about your cards was the easiest way to lose all your money and get kicked out of the poker table. Nevertheless, the last two decades of her life had taught her that when it comes to a love bet, folding is the only way to never win.

Like she had managed to do during Carnival right before waking House in middle of the night with a drunken phone call, Cuddy ordered her Jewish badass administrator brain to shut the hell up and allowed her heart to go in charge. It was harder now to ignore the protests of her forcefully gagged conscience without all the alcohol, though. The option of putting the blame on the dozen of refreshing and wild-driving caipirinhas and make her way out of public humiliation with a couple of heart-softening pictures and text messages was not available to control the damage that was about to be caused.

However, as the seconds slipped by and the light and friendly mood in the room resumed to gray, Cuddy figured that was probably her last chance of sneaking in before House raised his unconquerable walls again and isolated himself for good inside of his emotionless fortress. She could see him retreating to his shell as his baby blue orbs diverted to the floor unable to face her jade ones any longer, or even fake any nonchalance. Avoiding eye contact altogether, House closed the book and handed it back to Cuddy, unease corroding his insides like water did to effervescent Vitamin C.

The book was right there in front of her, begging to be grabbed and escorted out of that jinxed place along with its owner, but Cuddy would not hear its plea, or her mind's. Inhaling deeply and asking God for his blessing, she took hold of the book with her right hand and placed it on the countertop while her left reached for his arm and tugged on it gently. She tried not to be intimidated by the surprised look in his eyes while she brought him closer, stopping only when their mouths were just inches apart. Her left hand rose to caress his stubble cheek, the thumb tracing the lines on his face and contouring his lips. "I'm not going anywhere." She stated with utmost conviction and glanced one last time at his still flabbergasted eyes before capturing his lips in a tender kiss.

House felt Cuddy's fingers entwine his as her mouth touched his lips almost imperceptibly, planting a timid peck that he initially failed to reciprocate out of pure astonishment. Like an intriguing and long-anticipated déjà vu, his temporarily insane mind had hallucinated that moment almost a year ago, a manifestation of his most treasured and suppressed dream. Deep down that was everything House had yearned all along: an unmistakable sign to advance, an actual invitation to be a part of Cuddy's life. A guarantee that his heart would not be immediately crushed after being handed over to its owner.

It was hard to let go of him, but Cuddy finally managed to unseal her lips from House's irresponsive ones and opened her eyes in disappointment. Visibly disconcerted, she was about to drown in a baby blue flood of confusion as House's incredulous eyes perused her for seconds that felt like hours. Like a flawless ice sculpture, he had remained frozen in place, his sweet lips indifferent to her fruitless kissing attempt. The floor under her feet suddenly did not feel very consistent and her legs turned into jelly as her brain interpreted his unusual response as refusal.

House watched passively as his so called rejection materialized itself in the weep that sprouted stubborn and unwelcome in Cuddy's eyes, brightening even more their natural green blue sparkle. The shrewdness that had been responsible for turning him into one of the five best diagnosticians in the world unreasonably failed him and House needed several minutes to make sense of Cuddy's sudden breakdown. The possibility of him of not wanting her with every fiber of his being was so utterly preposterous that it did not even occur to him that she might not be so certain of this fact. He was able to identify one by one all the sentiments that not long ago had assaulted his scarred soul as his hawk eyes scrutinized her heartbreaking expression, and his chest clutched in angst to the unbearable view of her pain.

In spite of all the rational motives House had presented to himself – and obviously to Wilson – to justify why he had never given this relationship a shot, there was really only one irrefutable and unchangeable truth: getting involved with Cuddy would make her miserable. Not the standard _he is insufferable, insubordinate and shows no respect for me as a professional _kind ofmiserable_. _No. That she was used to, conditioned to their boss-employee button-pressing routine as a Bolshoi dancer to the Swan Lake choreography. His emotional mass destruction weapons' arsenal did have a lot left, and that could not be ignored. Once the first perfect weeks of romance were over and the initial sea of roses turned into a lifeless desert, it would be only a matter of time before Cuddy was crying herself to sleep alone in their bed while House was stuck at the closest strip club trying to drown his remorse in bourbon and cheap sex. Roses are red, violets are blue, and House is a jerk. That is how things were, and had been, and were doomed to continue being. The damage he had brought to Stacey's life had been more than enough to teach House that distance was the biggest proof of love he could ever give to a woman.

However, twenty years of daily love-proofing had been extenuating, and House no longer possessed the sufficient amount of will to resist the need of reaching out to Cuddy, both literally and figuratively. His disobedient hand succumbed to the irresistible temptation of moving up and caressing her face, her cheek feeling like a rose petal against the back of his calloused fingers that were gradually lavished by her unstopping tears.

Cuddy was not expecting House's tender gesture, which made her eyelids automatically give up to the overwhelming sensation of his touch. Once her head unconsciously leaned against his hand in a desperate try to feel him and her trembling lips turned west to brush sloppy kisses on his palm, House knew it was time to jump out of the cliff. His respiration got faster and goose bumps rouse on his arm once his bad leg gave the step that was about to change their lives forever.

His taste buds immediately recognized the salty flavor while his lips gently brushed part of her tears away, the rest of them wetting the sparse amount of hair on his chest as his arms enveloped her in a loving embrace. His head rested above hers, his hands moving in a soothing motion on her back and scalp as her sobbing gradually subsided. If it is true that sudden silence is a signal of angels' presence, a whole legion of them must have passed by the room while House and Cuddy stood there together in a sort of wordless prayer.

Once her weeping ceased, House smoothly broke the embrace and unnecessarily looked for permission in her reddish eyes before redeeming himself for his shameful and alien inertia by kissing her properly. Cuddy could not stifle the moan that echoed in her throat and got to suck on his tongue once it gladly accepted her grant for entrance and invaded her mouth to hungrily savor every corner of it. His stubble grazed the soft skin of her face, slightly bruising it, and she rose to her tip toes, trying to compensate some centimeters of height disadvantage, placing both arms around his neck and pulling him down to her. The kiss was so urgent, the need in it overwhelming in its desperation, as the grasp of a drowning person who managed to reach the life buoy after a lot of struggling in the open sea.

O and AB+ started to flow south as desire got freed from its feeble restraints and set two mutually scorching bodies in flames. Once oxygen deprivation finally forced them apart, and House's lips moved southeast to leave a track of open-mouthed kisses on her jaw and neck. His previously discrete erection was now at full continence, forming a Sioux tent in his loose sweatpants and Cuddy gasped at his hardness once his hands grabbed a handful of her ass and pulled her pelvis against his prick. Her clit intumesced and throbbed uncontrollably with his urgent pining, and she dug her nails in his scalp as he nipped and sucked feverishly on her carotid, leaving a mark that was bound to last longer than a henna tattoo.

Cuddy could feel the moisture flooding down her canal and dampening her underwear, a physical evidence of what her mind and soul had known all along: she needed him. _Badly_. It was not a matter of choice anymore, for any of them. It was _need_. Animalistic, "National Geographic" kind of need. Trillions of different cells composed both their organisms, and every single one of them craved for their long delayed fix, simultaneously, invincibly, insanely.

That was definitely not the most ladylike way of showing her willingness, but Cuddy easily succeeded in abstracting the remnants of her Puritanism as she settled for losing her soul to eternal damnation by committing the most alluring of capital sins. Sneaking out of House's embrace yet holding his interrogative and aroused stare, she deliberately reached under her skirt and shimmied her slobbery black thong down, letting it fall on the floor all the way down her ankles.

The heart-fibrillating view before his staggered eyes made House's cock grow an extra couple of invisible inches, the pair of baby blues almost leaving their cage in astonishment once Cuddy hopped on the kitchen's countertop and invitingly spread her legs to him. There was an almost solemn look in her eyes while her hands ran leisurely up her thighs, taking the offending garment out of the way of House's wolfish gaze.

No, she was not offering herself to him because she was already his; all of her being had belonged to him for the last two decades. She was merely making things right, putting the dots on the Is, surrendering to the overpowering force of destiny. House was not every guy, and those were not any circumstances. The man who was known for having a thing for hookers had shown her the most profound respect by not taking advantage of her vulnerability and abstaining to have sex with her when she was in no emotional conditions to validly consent to it. While everyone else at PPTH focused their attention on House's sexist verbal harassment, Cuddy worked daily over the ultimate evidence of his secretive sensitiveness and consideration. Her desk. The gift she failed to thank him for out of jealousy and insecurity had turned into the symbol of an obstinate and foolishly hopeful love which refused to die without being lived. So, to hell with subtlety, feminist values and self-preservation. Seduction game was over.

The anticipation in the room was palpable, and both experienced middle-aged doctors felt nervous as a couple of virgin seventeen-year-olds about to have sex for the first time. Trying to lighten up the mood a little, House bended over and picked Cuddy's underwear from the floor, holding the miniscule humid piece of black lace between this fingers and dangling it playfully with a boyish grin plastered on his face. Cuddy giggled and suggested "You can add it to your pile."

House smiled. A genuine and open smile that was almost as atypical as the blush that reddened his hollow cheeks at Cuddy's idea. For an instant she traveled back in time and space to the most popular med-student in Michigan immediately dragging everybody's attention to his legendary cool figure by simply walking in the party. The boy she fell in love with all those years ago did not find it so hard to be happy. Smiling back at his implausible shyness, Cuddy held out her left hand and ordered her tongue to take a dust-covered word back from the storage and voice it out loud "Come here, _Greg_."

Greg. His name sounded oddly beautiful in her voice. There had been at least ten years since she had last called him that, and he never consciously missed the intimacy until this moment. Throwing the slobbery panties to join his Brazilian souvenirs, he met Lisa on the counter. She widened her stance and he nested himself between her legs, their mouths heatedly merging once again. This time he was the one to part his lips at her demand for access, her skillful tongue slipping into his mouth and tasting him without any rush. God, he had forgotten how great a kisser she was. If his penis was not already about to perforate a hole on the front of his sweatpants, that kiss was enough to have him hard and ready.

Greg was still lost in the sweetness of Lisa's kiss when he felt her hands slipping down the waistband of his trousers and lovingly cupping his bottom cheeks while removing the inconvenient piece of clothing, which dropped flatly to the floor. He managed to continue kissing until her hands moved to the front of his body and grabbed his manhood, a wild sound of approval reverberating in his throat once Lisa started stroking him lazily. "Jesus, Lisa." He mumbled inside of her mouth, hissing when her thumb pressed on the head of his throbbing cock and pre cum abandoned its canal.

Their foreheads touched and Lisa proceeded in her delightful assault, deliberately running her left hand up and down his length while her right one massaged his balls. His breathing was speedy and his whole body squirmed with the sweet torture brought by every wave of pleasure that struck his senses. Once House got dangerously close to the edge, he kindly took hold of Lisa's wrists and pined them both on her sides, crashing her mouth immediately with another breathtaking kiss to shut up any eventual protests she might venture. It was his turn now to touch her.

It was impossible to House not to feel a self-important jerk once his fingers witnessed how much Lisa wanted him. Her sex was dripping in fluid, her clit fully swollen and oversensitive to contact. Teasing her would certainly have been lots of fun, and he truly hoped he would have the chance to make her beg in the future, but this occasion was too overloaded with emotion, and for once in his life House would treat things with the seriousness they deserved.

In an attempt to loosen her up for an upcoming penetration, House inserted a slender finger in her sex and watched in amazement as her lips parted in absolute bliss. She bit on her lower lip and purred like a kitten when another finger followed the first one and both started pumping in and out rhythmically. Her eyelids gave up and her pelvis moved like a serpent towards his hand, riding it as his pace increased. House waited anxiously for the first clench of her walls so he could pinch on her clit and make her explode on his hands, but apparently Lisa had another plans. "Stop." She ordered him, in gasps. "I want you inside me."

And he wanted to be inside of her. He needed to, more than his lungs needed air. But things were just not that simple when it came to Lisa. If it was any other woman in front of him begging to be fucked he would have gladly slammed his prick into her pussy until she forgot her own name, but that was his Lise. I did not matter how turned on he was, or how far they had already gone; the slightest trace of doubt in her eyes and he would let her go, safe and sound as she came in.

Her ocean-blue eyes had dimmed to a smoky gray. Her pupils were fully dilated, another unnecessary confirmation of her arousal. Her breathing was uneven, her chest arched in anticipation. The physical signs were all there, she longed for him, she was ready for him. Nevertheless, Greg had to ask. "Are you sure about this?" He inquired in a grave tone, his baby blues staring at her piercingly. "Cuz if we do this, we're on. No going back, no place for regret. I'm not letting you go." He warned her with just the right amount of somberness to instantly surface any hesitation that might be buried in the confines of her mind.

But Lisa did not vacillate. Locking her gaze with his, she stated with indisputable conviction. "I hope your sheets are clean cuz I plan on spending the night." She observed while his uniquely clever brain made sense of her words. She was referring to his hallucination, when he woke up alone in his bed after his vicodin-loaded mind forged a night of sex with her. Back then he had missed the first clue that everything had been an illusion: real Lisa would never have been that cold. Once the side of his mouth slightly curled up in a smirk of understanding, she requested sweetly "Will you make love to me now?"

"Gladly." He complied, brushing his lips in hers and positioning his penis at her opening. Seeking permission in her eyes one last time, he carefully pressed forward and met a powerful resistance as Newton's first law kicked in. Being well-endowed was always a curse before it became a blessing, especially with women as narrow as Lisa. The difference in their sizes made the first penetration look like hammering pins in wood.

The third inch had barely gotten in when her milky thighs cramped and a wince of pain escaped her mouth. Exactly like the first time, Greg stopped in his tracks, scared of hurting her and motioned to pull out. And as twenty years before, she reassured him. "I'm ok."

In order to give her some time to adjust, Greg decided to greet the unattended twins and personally apologize for his neglect. He removed her shirt and bra which, as usual, matched her panties, and marveled at Lisa's sculptured breasts in genuine adoration. "So beautiful…" he exclaimed, cupping both girls and squeezing them gently. His thumbs grazed over her nipples, which hardened in response. Lisa mirrored his movements, taking the chance to caress his biceps and run her manicured nails over his toned chest. "So are you", she sincerely complimented. It was amazing how fifty-year-old Greg remained just as attractive as he used to be in his youth, although she had no idea how he conserved all of those muscles.

Inclining a bit forward, Greg latched onto her right nipple and Lisa groaned in appreciation, entangling her fingers in his grey tufts and pulling his head towards her chest. His tongue alternated between encircling the aureole, flickering and nipping the rock bud and greedily sucking on it. It felt divine enough to distract Lisa from the initial discomfort, as Greg took the opportunity to penetrate further. He was almost there now, almost totally immersed in her warmth, and the urge to go all in was difficult to bear. Her velvety walls gripped around him perfectly, delectably wet. For a moment he wondered how good she might taste, and made a mental note to go down on her when the first opportunity came up.

Once he was temporarily done worshipping her boobs, Greg left a trail of kisses on his way up to her left ear before whispering. "Relax, Lise." He advised her, and covered her lips with his before thrusting deep into her canal. Her features contorted in a mix of pleasure and pain, and he planted soothing kisses on the corner of her mouth before starting to move back and forth unhurriedly. Lisa moaned and closed her eyes in enjoyment, lost in the sensation of fullness while her inner muscles stretched to accommodate him.

A few minutes of adaptation and both were able to find a pace. Looking for better access, Lisa laid with her back on the countertop and Greg flung her stocking legs on his shoulders, not bothering on taking her shoes off. Like every man on the planet, he also thought that there was something incredibly sexy about a naked woman in fancy painful extra-high heels.

Some minutes in the new position and Lisa was once again on the verge of escalating the summit. If Greg's vigorous plunges that hit _oh so fucking_ _perfectly_ on that secret little spot within were not enough, she had a view before her that capable of soaking a whole Victoria Secret lingerie department. That was a real man before her, at last. A real man who really knew how to equally take and give pleasure, who could treat her like a porcelain doll or a naughty slut depending on what her body called for. A man who took his time and saw her body as more than an object for his personal delight. His lips alternated between long teasing strokes and quick boosting ones, but always flawlessly deep and hard. One of his hands pressed firmly on her low abdomen while the other one worked her exposed clit. "Aw Lise, I'm gonna make you come so hard…" he mumbled once he noticed her staring and planted a kiss on her stocking-covered ankle.

His eyelids gave up and he sped up on his already frenetic rhythm. Greg did not even have to order his body to move now, he was on auto pilot. The sensation was so heavenly that he contemplated the possibility of dying right then, inside of her, just to feel her around him forever. Greg knew it was probably a good idea to slow down a bit if he wanted things to last longer, but he could not; control had slipped his hands – and hips – a couple of minutes ago. Yet, his mind was still able to abstract part of the mind-blowing pleasure and focus on the human-disguised goddess laid before him. God, how equivocated he had been, all these years thinking karma was out to get him… In fact, he was a lucky son of bitch that she had looked his way in the first place, since there was no heterosexual male – and homosexual female – who would not be at her feet the moment she flicked her fingers. And boy, was she enjoying it! Decades of experience with porn and hookers had allowed him to master the art of distinguishing real from fake, and that screaming, squirming and frowning were a hundred percent genuine.

Lisa's walls first clenched around his prick and Greg knew she was close. "Oh Greg, I'm going to… Aw God!" She blasphemed as torturous pleasure deformed her features, unnecessarily warning him about her impending orgasm and pulling him miles closer to his release. She was anticipating the standard permission to let go, but Greg was not every man. "Hold it Lisa. You're not coming until I tell you to." He commanded harshly, the authoritativeness in his tone matching his overwhelming virility. Lisa had no choice but to grip firmly on the countertop until her knuckles whitened and await him on the edge.

But he did not take much longer to join her. Once that tingling sensation built in his balls and spidered from the root to the extremity of his manhood, Greg yanked Lisa back to his arms and steel grasped her bottom cheeks. "Now baby, cum for me real hard." He urged her and mercilessly bit on her earlobe. Lisa clang desperately to his torso, her nails scratching his back unconsciously retaliating him for the extra moments of sweet agony. Her legs crossed on the small of his back holding him captive deep within and her mouth searched for his to goofily share one last kiss before her core convulsed violently.

A feminine cry and a male snarl of earnest pleasure echoed loudly on the loft walls as two human beings previously designed to match finally fit and reached a long delayed state of plenitude. The electro shock waves of ecstasy flowed through their connected bodies as their flesh trembled and writhed in sugary desperation. Lisa's teeth sank in Greg's shoulder blade as his warm seed abandoned his penis and gushed inside her, and he reflexively kept moving while they both rode the most powerful orgasms of their lives. Their hearts disputed on which beat faster, in an animated race back from a near attack, and their lungs strived for oxygen as their eyes rotated back to their original front position, able to face each other in their blue magnificence and read all the love words were too meager to express.

There are few things in life as superb as going back home earlier from work on a Friday afternoon, especially when you have the forthcoming Saturday off. It is a feeling of pure unadulterated happiness. Wilson entered his apartment and his ears were indulged with absolute silence; no sounds of nasty porn or irritating video games or Van Halen solo practicing. His home was quiet as a medieval crypt, which nearly made him reconsider the idea of going out for a run. Enjoying the tranquility of House's absence was definitely a better option.

However, the black leather coat and the overly expensive Prada hanging on the corridor's rack set a puzzle in his head while he made his way to the kitchen in a slow pace. There was obviously a woman around, but his brain could not conceive a hooker with such an expensive taste for fashion. Unless it was not… _OH MY GOD!_

Wilson had no idea how he managed to keep a yelp of shock from escaping his half parted lips or his jaw from opening a hole in the floor to the utterly mind-boggling scenario before him. Oddly enough, the first thought that occurred to him was that he needed to buy a new couch. As his incredulous eyes processed the view of a fully naked House sprawled on the orange fabric with Cuddy equally exposed and nested on his chest grew a lump in his throat that was really, really hard to swallow.

Thankfully, both Romeo and Juliet – or would it be Tristan and Isolde? On a third thought, maybe Bonnie and Clyde suited them better… - were asleep, which significantly restrained a bit the skyrocketing awkwardness that possessed poor Jimmy. Nonetheless, the affection he nourished for those crazy people was responsible for gradually turning stupefaction into tenderness. Wilsonian chivalry allowed him to pay as little attention as possible to Cuddy's bare tanned ass and focus on the adorable girlish smile that garnished her sleeping figure. The runaway trip to South America had obviously made her some good, but his intuition told him the earth-shattering previous event that took place of his scanty pieces of furniture had had a big round ripe sweet Maraschino cherry on top.

Unlike Cuddy, House's face did not have a beam adorning it - this would have been scary and unrealistic enough - but there was a lot of peace in it. The serenity of a soldier who finally comes home after long and consuming months of battle. His arms were wrapped around his woman, holding her protectively against his chest and his left cheek rested against the top of her head while Cuddy used him as her personal mattress, lying comfortably on top of him with her left thigh conveniently covering his sex. Except for Cuddy's butt, there were no other polemic body parts on display. Thank God.

Anticipating Cuddy's future embarrassment and grinning mischievously at his brand new pranking opportunity, Wilson retrieved his iPhone from his trousers' pocket and snapped a shot to posterity before turning on his heels and heading off to his room. After the epic scene his eyes had just witnessed, a jog was in order.

Five minutes later, Lisa had not moved a single inch from her axial sleep but Greg had once more been unwillingly dragged back to conscience. It was the third time in two hours that he was briefly won over by tiredness only to wake up startled half an hour later, the same bad dream repeating over and over again. His mind cruelly rewinded the tape of his life to a year ago, the morning after his hallucination. The empty bed. The cold flannel sheets. The deafening quietness in the apartment.

As his disturbed sleep-slowed mind acknowledged reality, he reflexively tightened his grip around her and inhaled the fruity scent of her shampoo. Still sound asleep, Lisa sighed and managed to make herself even more comfortable above her lover/bed. Burying his fingers in her curls and fondling her scalp, Greg closed his eyes and was already drifting off to a peaceful slumber when his sharp ears caught a known step coming closer.

House could feel Wilson's presence as his friend hovered over them, and the enticement for scrutinizing the oncologist's perplexed expression forced his eyelids to open and ruined his sleeping pretense. Jimmy wore his favorite navy blue jersey, most likely about to go out for a run, and was meticulously placing an afghan above Cuddy's back, tucking her and House in.

Ice blue met chocolate brown, both filled with fraternity. House knew his happiness was also Wilson's, as his misery had always sprinkled on his best friend. "Thank you." Greg mumbled timidly, purposefully not adding an indirect object to his sentence. There was just too much to be grateful for.

Jimmy nodded and flashed his trademark boyish smirk before exiting the condo.

_*song by "__Nikolaj Grandjean" _

_**Reviews are love, especially the long, thoughtful, positive ones... LOL! Just kidding. Leave your message if you feel like it. :D**_


	5. Diamonds On The Inside

_**Disclaimer:**_ I unfortunately own nothing beyond my deranged mind and my exquisite taste. House MD belongs to David Shore and FOX.

"_**Goodbye Old Year, Happy New Year**_

_**Everything shall happen in the year about to be born**_

_**A lot of money in your pocket**_

_**And enough health to be given and sold."**_

_**For my dearest readers, a lame English version of our Brazilian most famous New Year's Carol to accompany the last chapter of Jerkiness. **_

_**A wonderful 2011 to you all. **_

_**Andie. **_

_**PS: Let me know if you want an epilogue and feel free to leave your suggestions. :D**_

_**A/N: **_As a big fan of music, I have my iPod as a primary source of inspiration. This story - as the others I've written and co-written - is musically influenced. Therefore, believing that a song can help the readers to better understand the author's intention while writing the story and consequently appreciate it even more, I've decided to name every chapter after the tune that moved me into creating _Jerkiness_, so you guys can have a soundtrack suggestion. :D

_**Jerkiness**_

_**Chapter Five – Diamonds On The Inside**_*

"Hey buddy, that's the fifth time in a row, ya know?" the blue-eyed bartender observed as House limped back from the Jukebox, his standard wobbling walk sensibly worsened by the eighth – or maybe ninth; the exact amount of booze consumed by House that night was as great a mystery as the real number of Demi Moore's surgical interventions… - shot of tequila.

_I know just how to whisper  
And I know just how to cry  
I know just where to find the answers  
And I know just how to lie  
I know just how to fake it  
And I know just how to scheme  
I know just when to face the truth  
And then I know just when to dream_…

The 80's mushy ballad filled the room once again to the profound indignation of the other faithful costumers at Sherrie's. They had far surpassed their Air Supply annual share two "Making Love Out Of Nothing At All"s ago, and the initial approval induced by nostalgia had turned into seven dagger looks and a couple of politically incorrect insults to the cripple who had monopolized the Jukebox.

"Really? I guess that explains why I'm running out of change." House retorted, sluggishly reclaiming his seat on the counter. "Now shut up and pour me another one."

It was hard to resist the cliché and come up with an original definition to a scene that practically begged to be called déjà vu. It was a chilly Friday night in Princeton, NJ, and Gregory House, the Lord of Miserableshire, was once more stuck in a low-class bar making sure to proceed firmly and strongly on his journey towards hepatic cirrhosis.

The bottle of Jose Cuervo had been emptied in a speed that would make any Mexican tequilero jealous. If the leather jacket, motorcycle helmet and 400-hundred-cane that composed the cripple's extra cool visual had not already been plenty to impress the 23-year-old blond bartender, House's high tolerance to alcohol would surely have done the trick.

Differently from the super liver functioning and the bad boy persona, Isaiah Santi Romano seemed unaffected by House's impoliteness. Indeed, there is really nothing better than six months of daily crap-taking from drunken loser costumers to help you develop tolerance. "I'm just trying to understand why you insist on playing this stupid song when there are a hundred and fifty others just as dreadful to choose from." Isaiah pointed out while refilling House's glass.

House met Isaiah's vivid sapphire gaze for a moment and wondered what the hell had happened to the good old indifferent and intellectually challenged bartenders he had grown fond of. The kid was way too witty and talkative to his taste. "My girlfriend was singing it this morning all the way to work just to annoy me." House answered before downing his shot. Telling Isaiah to shut up and mind his own damn business would have been the most logical reaction to the inopportune interrogation, but House figured he would eventually need some help to get into a cab as his legs started to give up on him altogether.

House's unexpectedly honest reply gave Isaiah an implicit permission to inquire further. "Aw, so you get into a fight with your girlfriend, who unquestionably has a resentfully bad taste for music, and now we all have to suffer?" The blond boy wondered with a puzzled expression on his handsome face while throwing the last Margarita ingredients inside of the blender and turning it on.

_Girlfriend_. It had slipped so naturally from the kid's lips. He obviously did not know House enough to realize how alien that word sounded coming out of his mouth, and how difficult it had been for him to get used to the idea of being in a relationship again. The last six weeks had been absolutely surreal. "I did not get into a fight with her." House corrected, instantly reprehending himself for not putting an end to that annoying conversation.

Isaiah fixed the Margaritas and handed them over to the couple of cougars who had ordered them with a stern look on his face. If the perverts insisted on looking at him like he was a piece of meat, he would have to tattoo _I'M NOT A BOY TOY, PLEASE STOP_ _STARING_ somewhere visible. "Of course you didn't. Sherrie's is the best place in town to celebrate conjugal bliss…" He countered ironically, reaching for a bag of salty peanuts and ripping it open "What did she do, besides all the musical abusing?"

It took House's alcohol-drenched mind a second or two to access the memories on exactly how a day that started with two rounds of morning sex, fresh coffee and macadamia pancakes in bed and a ridiculously harmonic Air Supply duo in the car was about to end in these stupid circumstances. And then he remembered… "She set me up."

Incredulity dripped from Isaiah's blue orbs like a pair of waterfalls. "Why would she do that? Are you a millionaire or something?" The young man inquired a bit sardonically, a half-grin of mockery adorning his angelic features before he added "Sorry, but you don't look like Forbes material to me."

Isaiah's irreverent remark would probably have made House laugh if it was not for the bitter reminisces his endless questions had just brought up. "No. But I happen to be very fertile." House offered vaguely, hoping the oddness of his answer would be interpreted as drunken bullshit and cause the bartender's interest to fade a shade or two.

It did not work. "Whoa whoa whoa, lemme get this straight. You're saying she tricked you into knocking her up? How did she manage to do that? Opened miniscule holes in your rubbers?" Isaiah asked in utter astonishment, which instantly contaminated House once the diagnostician had another dose of the bartender's shrewdness shoved down his throat. Not only had the boy gotten his point across perfectly, but also managed to criticize him and his conspiracy theory in the same sentence.

In spite of being plausible – at least in a trashy Latin soap opera scenario - Isaiah's hypothesis lacked accuracy. Cuddy had surely not bothered in pining needles into House's condoms because he had not been bothering in using them a single time since their countertop rendezvous six weeks before. "I thought she was on the pill…" House lamely justified, feeling the urge to avert his embarrassed gaze as Isaiah's disapproving one menaced to pierce a hole in his skull.

A blind person who might eavesdrop on the conversation would have a problem identifying the fifty-year-old renowned doctor and the twenty-year-old undergraduate. "That's the price for riding bareback my friend. Sooner or later you end up getting a ticket." Isaiah cocked both eyebrows and pointed out in an overly condescending tone that yanked a genuine smile out of the older man's lips. That line looked just like something he would say to one of his reckless moronic patients at the clinic.

_Clini__c, the place it had all officially started. Better yet, the place it all had ended. House's happily ever after had lasted exactly six weeks and turned into a nightmare of multiple suppurating boils and a pool of vomit. _

_It was only a few minutes past ten and House's__ diagnostic skills had just been offended by the third rhinovirus in a row. As he multitasked between sloppily destroying the pile of clinic files that rested on the nurse's station countertop in the chance of a case marginally worth of his brilliance and providing kinky details about his sexual exploits with Nurse Jeffrey's mom, House had the chance to watch first hand as Exam Room #1's patient darted out of the room and yelled for help to the doctor who was literally spilling his guts out._

_The yellow secretion that erupted from the five or six abscesses on the patient's forearm were actually remarkably hard to ignore, and House felt his gross-accustomed stomach churn as he hastily limped past the old Asian man and entered the room to assist his sick colleague. His hand clutched the doorknob and his lungs loaded themselves with an exaggerated amount of pure air in preparation for the unpleasant puke odor that was about to invade his nostrils. House hated puke._

_Ice blue orbs widened in surprise and a strident sound of w__ood clattering to the ground filled the room once House insentience kneeled to support the Spanish guitar-shaped brunette abandoned on the floor. Macadamia pancakes, coffee and grapefruit prematurely came back to the world through the wrong exit as Cuddy struggled with her hands, which were supposed to hold her own hair and press on her somersaulting stomach at the same time. _

_Five minutes of back-rubbing and dry heaving later, House reluctantly let go of Cuddy's hair and mentally cursed a couple of times at the pain while heroically managing to lift himself and Cuddy to a standing position. Her body felt limp in his arms, her gelid and sweaty hands obvious evidence of a hypertensive crisis. The sudden paleness in her face matched the Medium Age heroin visual, and House decided not to trust the firmness of her legs just yet, opting for laying her on the bed before she passed out altogether._

_Cuddy did not verbalize any objection to House's idea and hopped on the bed kicking her heels off. Her back immediately welcomed the comfort of the mattress and her eyes fluttered shut in a recovering attempt. There was no better occasion to put her yoga techniques into use. During the couple of minutes, House watched relaxation gradually win over her body and rechecked her pulse; her heart rate was back to normal and color was infused back into her face as her previously shallow breathing evened and deepened. _

_When Blue, the janitor poked his head in the room in his courageous mopping attitude, House bobbed his head to let him in and waited while his girlfriend's stomach content dirtied the water-cleanse mixture inside of the bucket, bringing the floor back to its glorious hygienic days. The room was as silent as a deaf students reading class, yet House's mind activity far surpassed that Icelandic dust-spreading flight-ruining volcano. 57. That was the exact amount of times he had ejaculated inside of Cuddy in the last six condom-less weeks, continuously planting his seed in what appeared to be a safely dry and unfertile land… Now there was nothing left to do but to search for the secretly growing root under the arid soil. _

_After__ working his sanitary magic, Blue walked out of the room in the best of his minimum wage nonchalance, doing the unasked favor of closing the door behind him. "Gosh, my mouth tastes awful." Cuddy grumbled, verbalizing her first words in the last fifteen minutes yet not bothering to open her eyes or move a single inch from her comfortable non-puking position. You know, it has been scientifically proved that angry gastric tracts are highly sensitive to any sort of sudden motion… "I hope I don't need a new liver after this since Wilson has already donated part of his to that self-important jerk and yours is unusable." She darkly humored, oblivious to House's suspicion and his urgent intention to confirm it as he hastily limped to the other end of the room and rolled the sonogram machine to her bedside._

_His heart spanked his ribcage in anticipation and he noticed the slight tremble in his hands once the right one reached for the on/off button and switched it while the left grabbed the gel bottle. Cuddy was not the only one with a bitter taste in her mouth; his had also been invaded with a much worse flavor as his mind worked hard to fathom every detail of her treacherous plan. "I'm wondering who helped you with the hormone shots this time…" He inquired in a venomous tone while roughly pulling down the hem of Cuddy's skirt and lifting her blouse to expose her lower abdomen. _

_Cuddy's brain did not have much chance to comprehend what the heck House was talking about before her tactile nerves acknowledged his touch and identified the cool jelly substance being applied on her skin "Hormones? I haven't taken any hor- What are you doing?" She asked more than once, genuinely thrown off balance. _

_House distrusted the honesty of Cuddy's shocked reaction and ignored her begging for clarification, struggling to focus on the ultrasound until a faint repeated sound echoed timidly on the walls. The heartbeat was strong and frantic and meaningful enough to instantly shut Cuddy up and sprout tears in her eyes. The bean-shaped owner did not take long to appear on the screen as well, to the utter flabbergast of his mother…_

_And the juvenile terror of his father. "We__ll, I guess my work here is done, right?" House spat irately, words of pure outrage boiling inside of his mouth, demanding to come into the outside world and cause irreparable havoc. "I knew recession had really screwed up the real estate market, but I didn't imagine it had any effects on sperm as well. When did good fertile cum become too pricy for your Dean of Medicine's possessions? Or was it the free neighborhood-waking orgasms that sold you out?"_

_Cuddy felt like a__ wasted homeless person being awakened by a bucket of cool water on the coldest night of the year. Her stomach was back on protesting and tears rolled freely down her cheeks; her head spun like a "Fast and Furious in Tokio" carousel and her trembling left hand hovered unsurely over her abdomen, deciding whether or not to caress her bulge-to-be as her mind debated whether or not to believe her eyes. _

_Her ears, however, kept on registering every single preposterous-sounding charge House proceeded to press against her. 17__th__ Century Spanish Inquisitors would have sounded reasonable compared to him right now "I mean, who cares about passing on a handful of bad genes to a kid when you can save some thousand dollars and also get a five-star additional fuck service? That's a hell of a deal, barracuda Administrator strikes again! Had a lot of time to test and approve the phenotype too, huh? Tall, brawny, ice blue eyes, Dutch ascendency, astronomic IQ… Couldn't think of a better reproducer myself."_

_And that it was, the word that lit a bulb of understanding above Cuddy's head: reproducer. The astonishment brought along with the most recent and marvelous piece of news had overpowered her whole self and kept her from comprehending House's furious reaction. His words were slowly been absorbed by her overloaded brain and indignation joined platelets, red and white cells in her plasma, causing her blood to boil. He thought she had planned this pregnancy; he assumed she was a sperm-stealing whore who pretended to be in love with him just to get periodically fertilized like a damn rose tree. How dare he think of her that way? How could he cheapen their newborn relationship into a mating ritual?_

_Like a broken toilet pipe, House continued to spurt shit around in insult form for a couple of minutes until his apparently infinite jerkiness source ran dry due to the lack of counter stimulation. Cuddy settled for looking at him in the eye and not saying a single word, following one of her grandmother's useful words of advice: a clown needs an audience to perform. Those accusations were too ridiculous to get any response. Once there was any quietness in the room again, House was solemnly ordered to leave, a single tear running down Cuddy's face as she laid on her side and curled up in a ball with her back facing him. Her hand finally rested on her lower belly as the door snapped shut. _

House downed the shot of tequila hoping the liquid slipping smoothly down his esophagus would wash away the bitter memories currently assaulting his brain. "You're good with metaphors…" He complimented, sucking the juice out of a lime slice also to no avail.

"Whatever." Isaiah grumbled dismissively. "So, you're having a kid with your girlfriend, big deal. Why's that so bad? Other than you being too young to be a father…" The bartender inquired resentfully, no longer bothering to conceal his annoyance at House's "_American Pie in the Fifties"_ irresponsible attitude.

Once again House felt the urge to put the insolent kid in his place, and once again the proper retort died prematurely on his lips, ceding place to a heroically persistent honesty. "I never wanted to be a father. Still don't." He mumbled and bowed his head when a sudden and unconscious need to avoid Isaiah's stare invaded his crippled being.

The song ended to the open satisfaction of everyone else at the dimly lit decadent bar. "I doubt your kid longed to be conceived either." Isaiah stated with undisputable conviction, retrieving the bottle of tequila and hiding it behind the counter, signing the end of another pointless boozing session. House could feel his own brave liver let out a sigh of relief.

Geez, that boy was impertinent. "Look, I didn't ask for any of this, ok? She had no right." House spat sourly, once again unable to ignore Isaiah's judgmental attitude.

A bitter smile blossomed in Isaiah's face and he reminded himself why attempting any sort of conversation with people who frequented the shitty place had never been an option; the clients had an irrepressible tendency to be drunken selfish bastards. "Funny, that's exactly what the loser who impregnated my mom said before walking out. Well, of course he tried to convince her to kill me first." He argued, not really thinking about the inconvenience of sharing his greatest childhood trauma with a perfect stranger. "Are you planning on following the jerk protocol too? Telling her to get rid of it?"

Isaiah's harsh words burned their way through House's ears, causing his heart to immediately shrink due to the indignation that pervaded his self as the unfair accusation was uttered. "I would never do that. It's her body, her call." He countered defensively, his voice coated in genuine angst.

And there it was, somehow immersed in the pools of baby blue, the profusion of sentiments that made Isaiah instantly regret his own callousness. The man obviously cared about his kid, and the sooner he admitted that, the better. "Wouldn't you mind her aborting your kid?" The bartender insisted, this time on a softer, more understanding tone.

"Yeah." House answered almost shyly, the one syllable word sweeping out of his mouth effortlessly as he finally gave up the pathetic intent of fooling himself. For a whole day he had coerced his mind into forsaking the image of that little bean growing inside of the woman he loved, stopped his ears from reproducing the sound of its strong heartbeat. The sole idea that Cuddy's pregnancy might not come to term thanks to a miscarriage was already too disturbing, let go an intentional abortion. Not that she would ever do such nonsense anyway. "I just think… I'm not the guy for the job, the kid is gonna hate me." He finally confessed, meeting the boy's eyes for a brief second that lasted enough to make him feel like the most pathetic middle aged man on Earth.

Isaiah's lips curled up in a smile. The old man was such a chicken shit… Then again, that was infinitely better than a heartless SOB. "That's a 'probably'. Deny it the chance to love you and you will get a 'definitely'. Is that what you want?" The bartender noted wisely, filling a mug with hot steamy coffee and pushing it to House while taking advantage of the doctor's slowed reflexes to confiscate his motorcycle keys. "Now sober up while I call you a cab to take you back to Air Supply girl. Oh, and the tank better be full." He quipped, playfully dangling the keys in the air.

Once House limped into Cuddy's place, his alcoholic status had decreased from censurably hammered to legitimately tipsy, thanks to his fighter liver and Isaiah's miraculously sobering coffee, which acted in an epic conjunct effort to save his sorry ass. The place was threateningly quiet, and he did his best to relieve the weight on his extra heavy inferior limbs to avoid making any unnecessary noise.

The corridor seemed to lengthen as he cowardly dragged himself to Cuddy's chamber, scared to death to be convicted to a lonely and uncomfortable night of sleep – or lack thereof – on the couch, which he knew would be a good deal regarding the nature of his last fault. He had messed up, royally. Unprecedentedly, that is. If she had any vestige of sense left inside of her brain, she would kick his ass to the curb and forbid him to ever have any contact with their kid. Or her.

The faint nightlight coming from Rachel's half opened room door made House stop in his tracks and peek inside to check on the sleeping toddler, a habit he had developed after the fifth or sixth babysitting evening. Sometimes he would just enter and fondle her chocolate brown hair when there were no other witnesses nearby beyond the yellow walls of the nursery, but he thought it to be more prudent to refrain his impetus and avoid another bonding moment, for their whole potential fatherhood relationship might be so close to perishing.

He hobbled into the room, and it was hard to resist the temptation to come close to the bed where she lay still as a statue with her back to the door. He knew better than imposing her with his stinky tequila breath and day-long body odor, though. He was in no condition to share her sheets. Five minutes later, after brushing his teeth, House got into the shower and felt the hot water lavishing every part of his battered body, wordlessly praying to his nonexistent god that Cuddy's chamomile soap would also wash away some of his sins as it cleansed his skin.

Sitting carefully on the bed, House stretched his arm to reach the lampshade and switched it on. Cuddy did not move a single inch from her original position, and he took a deep breath, gathering every molecule of nerve he had left before pulling on her left arm until she was laying on her back. She was awake, the hypnotic green blue of her irises surrounded by the bloodshot remnant of her tears. House felt a lump grow inside of his throat, his heart missing a couple of beats just to see her in such a fragile state, and even knowing he had no right, it was impossible to tame the impulse to hold her. And so he did, yanking her into a sitting position without a second thought and enveloping her in his embrace.

Surprisingly, Cuddy did not repel his gesture, although House could feel her instantly stiffen in his arms. "I'm sorry, Lise. I'm so sorry." He whispered over and over in her ear, his fingers entangling themselves in her black curls to fondle her scalp in a soothing manner once he felt her warm tears on his chest. He mutely rocked her back and forth until her crying ceased and she broke their contact, searching for his eyes.

Cuddy pursed her lips and House felt like a defendant about to hear the verdict. "I just want you to know that that little girl asleep in the next room is not an experiment or a charity case. She's my daughter, House. She's my dream come true. So don't you dare come to me and accuse me of using you to get pregnant and become a mother because I already _am_ a mother." She started, her voice cracking up in emotion after tacitly declaring her love for Rachel. "Do you think it was an easy decision, to give up on conceiving? It was not. The whole concept of desistence was unknown to me, for the first time in my life I felt like a failure, as if being unable to carry my own child made me less of a woman." She continued, and House motioned to stop her. There was no way he would allow her to say self-deprecate like that in his presence.

"Let me finish." She demanded and he shut up. "I was determined to proceed with the IVFs as long as it took but after the miscarriage I- I just couldn't…" She suddenly trailed off, the sad memories becoming too much. "I'm not sure I can do this again…"

Noticing Cuddy was on the verge of another breakdown, House took the opportunity to intervene. "Look, just because we're clearly not ready for this it doesn't mean it can't work out. See, you artificially created the perfect hormonal conditions for your body to gestate and it never stuck, maybe now it happened spontaneously…" He hypothesized in an alien hopefulness, trying his hardest to hide the fact he did not believe a single one of his words.

But she could smell his guilt from miles away. "Ok, stop this. Don't try to cheer me up and get away with your jerkiness episode with bad medicine. That's not you." She reprimanded in evident frustration.

Cuddy's somehow hostile reaction reminded House of his earlier talk with the bartender. Could it be possible she was actually considering quitting the battle before it barely started? No, no, no, no, no, she would never do that. "I understand that you already have Rachel, that it's your decision, that the last thing you need is to go through all of that… _emotional distress again_" he uttered in an overly comprehensive tone, carefully choosing every word "But since it has already happened, I say we just give it a shot. I promise I'll be here every step of the way, and…"

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait… You think I wanna- Man, what's wrong with you today? I find out I'm pregnant, you accuse me of cunningly planning it, I confess I'm scared shitless of losing your kid, you think I wanna have an abortion? My God, House!" She clarified with a frown, visibly disappointed at House's lack of perceptiveness. "I've known about this baby for eight hours, and I can't wait to have it in my arms, or at least to actually feel it inside my womb. You don't have to _convince_ me of anything." She continued, and once again House felt like an idiot, which was dangerously becoming a habit.

A little hurt by her lashing out, he avoided her stare like a little boy caught up with both hands in the cookie jar and she felt her heart melt. "It was sweet, though." She admitted, raising her hand to touch his stubble cheek. They lost themselves in each others blue immensities, and their lips merged sweetly, sealing the truce agreement negotiated by their own little peace maker.

The future parents kissed and cuddled tenderly for several minutes, dissolving into a fresh breeze the stormy grey previous atmosphere in the room. "Do you think it was the countertop round?" House conjectured once the kissing ended. "Cuz based on the intensity of my orgasm, I must have blown a zillion of my swimmers inside you all at once." He observed with a half-smug, half-nostalgic tone.

Cuddy gave him her trademark eye roll. "You know how to ruin the moment, don't you?" She scowled only partially annoyed as part of her mind recalled her nearly heart-stopping climax that afternoon and admitted he could actually have a point.

House smirked mischievously. "Seriously. I do need to know all the details about my exceptional prowess." He bragged, arching his brows in a self-satisfying manner only to burrow them when a brilliant idea struck his mind. "And I tell you what Cuddy, we should call him 'Counter'. _Counter James House_."

Not in a million years! "No, we shouldn't. You're not naming my son after an imaginary object, we're not celebrities." Cuddy grimaced. "And how do you know it's a _he_? No female soldiers in your army?" She asked him ironically, not noticing there was a bad choice of words in her speech.

The pronoun Cuddy used did not sound right whatsoever. "Sh, I made the kid, I know the gender. And it's _our_ son, ok?" House corrected her, clearly bothered by her implicitly shutting him down.

Cuddy bit her lower lip contritely. "Ok, sorry." She apologized sincerely, making a mental note not to exclude him again. "I like the James part, though. Wilson will be honored." She noted indulgingly.

"Who told you it's because of him?" House deflected, working hard on sounding dismissive but ultimately failing to suppress a grin.

Cuddy flashed him her incredulous lopsided smile. "Oh, is it not? Who is it, then? Jimi Hendrix? Jimmy Cliff? James Dean?" She speculated between giggles.

"Jim Morrison." House clarified with a "duh" look in his face, glaring at her in fake disappointment.

"Aw, right." Cuddy pretended to believe him, actually touched by his desire of naming their kid after his best friend. Wilson was a very important person in both their lives, and had surely deserved such honor.

"What about Isaiah?" House suggested out of the blue.

Cuddy found his option rather odd. "That's a Jewish name." She pointlessly noted.

House already expected her reaction. "Yes, it is. And since I'm hell not letting you cut part of his little dick off, I figured it would be a simpler way to make it easier for him in Hebrew school." He justified, hoping his humorous tone would divert her curiosity.

It did not. "It does have a nice ring to it. _Isaiah_. I like it." She agreed with enthusiasm but insisted in knowing the source of his pick. "It is not a very common name as well. How did you come up with it?"

House resorted to the scriptures in a plainly pathetic deflection attempt. "You do know I'm an avid reader of the Bible, don't you?" He had definitely a better shot with Cuddy referring to a Jewish prophet than to a stranger sassy bartender who not only did have the guts put him in his place but was probably out there speeding up and wasting his motorcycle gas and tires with a hottie holding tight to his waist. That is exactly how he imagined his kid to be, strong-willed, clever and righteous.

Cuddy, obviously, did not buy it. "House." She stared at him in disbelief, half-arching her eyebrow.

House felt cornered and decided to go for the truth. Well, his conveniently edited version of it. "Nothing, it's just… Sounded like the name of a guy who would tell me like it is." He explained in a soft tone, wordlessly pleading her to drop the subject. As always, she read him like an open book and smiled her mute understanding.

An easy silence fell upon the room, and House debated whether or not he should break it. "So, Isaiah James House?" He asked finally, his right hand moving on a will of its own to rest timidly on Cuddy's still flat stomach.

"Isaiah James House." Cuddy confirmed, struggling to fight back her tears once she felt House's hand caressing her womb ever so gently. Unlike him, she hated to ruin the moment, which would end up happening if she turned into a compulsively crying Italian mafia widow on him.

Cuddy only forgot that wild horses, raging rivers and pregnancy hormones are nearly impossible things to tame. "So, this is happening, isn't it?" She had to make sure, the urge to cling to this dreamy reality overpowering her objectiveness as the stubborn weep rolled down her face anyway.

House felt a shiver run through his spine. They both knew things could go incredibly wrong, but hearing it would not make anything easier. "Absolutely. I'm gonna bring him to your arms, I promise you. All pink and perky, whatever it takes. It doesn't matter if we have to spend the next seven and a half months on bed rest." He assured her almost through gritted teeth, forced optimism leaving an oddly nauseating taste in his mouth.

"We?" Cuddy wondered suspiciously. Of course he had an agenda which probably included avoiding work like the plague.

"Of course. Apart from IJ's father, I'm also your physician, I gotta watch you." He reasoned with his typical Wall Street investor kind of confidence.

"Aw." She pretended to enable him, visibly amused.

He got the hint to proceed with his plan's exposition. "Yeah. I'll get you a decent cable service and bring the TV here and have Wilson bringing us food. Marina can take care of Rachel and keep the house inhabitable. It's perfect. You'll only get up to pee and poop."

"_And_ shower." Cuddy added inebriated by his charm, the urge to kiss him driving her body closer to his.

"No, no, no, that's the fun part." He corrected and whispered sexily before claiming her lips. "_Sponge bath_."

*_song by "Ben Harper"_

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